I Don't Believe in Love at First Fight
by SuperWhoLockHiddles
Summary: [This story changes every chapter.] [Shut the fuck up, no it doesn't!] [Yes, Gerard, it does.] [No, Mikey, it doesn't!] [Hey! Both of you: Shut up!] [MAKE US!] [You're all hopeless...honestly.] [Whateven, Bob.] [Let's get back on topic! The story? What's it about?] [Vampires...] [And Wizards...] [And Werewolves...] [OH MY!] [...] [Sorry...it had to be done.]
1. Shoes, OCD, and Blind Dates

Shoes, OCD, and Blind Dates

_"I've got troubled thoughts, and a self esteem to match..." -Fall Out Boy_

* * *

**2 HOURS BEFORE THE PARTY**

Mikey's small voice broke through Gerard's intense train of thought, "Going tonight?" He was sitting on his bed, leaning against the wall, sketching, with a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. Gerard's eyes snapped into focus, and he groaned at being interrupted. Pulling the cigarette from his mouth he exhales a stream of smoke before putting it out in the tray next to his bed. He just leans back and stares at Mikey, expectantly.

"Um, tonight?" Gerard asked, slightly confused, and secretly hoping it wasn't October 20th. Mikey had set him up…on a date…with another human being.

[**Well, technically I'm not a human being, but okay Gerard…**]

[**Shut up, I'm telling a story. Where was I? Oh yeah, the date;**]

To say the least, it wasn't exactly a smart idea; Gerard spent as much time as possible in the comfortable confines of his home. He loved being home, doing art, drinking coffee, smoking, writing comics/songs, watching movies ect. He didn't _have _to leave the house to be happy, unlike Mikey.

[**Hey, that's a dick thing to say!**]

[**Next person who interrupts me gets a fork in their eye.**]

"Tonight," Mikey confirmed ducking his head slightly. He pulled back the sleeve of his leather jacket to look at his watch, "I'm leaving in ten minutes, Gerard." There was an unspoken question that lingered between them. Gerard just wanted to pick up another cigarette and pretend he didn't know what his brother was talking about. _Are you coming, or are you staying home? _That was what Mikey really wanted to talk to Gerard about.

Gerard shrugged, drawing his knees up to his chest, "Does it seem like a good idea, Mikes?" He asked gazing out the window next to his bed. They both knew the answer to _that_ question. Of course it wasn't a good idea, but Gerard had to leave the house sometime! Staying there was just out of the question.

Mikey sighed, contemplatively, "Here," he said going over to Gerard's dresser and rummaging through it. He pulled out a clean pair of socks and underwear, a brand-spankin'-new white t-shirt, and black jeans.

He tossed the clothes on Gerard's bed and reached over to pat his brother's knee affectionately. Mikey smiled slightly, "We can be late, if you'd like. Go take a shower, put these on, and come with me to the party." The term 'party' wasn't an understatement, but it certainly wasn't an overstatement.

[**'Party' doesn't cover it at all, Gerard.**]

[**Gah! What did I say?!**]

[**Yeah, your fork is real terrifying.**]

[**Shut the fuck up, Mikey!**]

[**Hey, Frank! What would you even call one of our gatherings? Séance? Exorcism? Pack meeting? Sorry Bob…**]

[**That's a good question. Never thought about it, actually. We're like a fucking menagerie! Just make up some shit, I don't know. Make a new word…**]

[**A new word?! For 'party' or for 'us'?**]

[**Well—**]

[**Shut up you ****_know_**** what I meant by 'us'.**]

[**Just make something up when you need to, okay?**]

[**You guys are no fucking help at all! ****_And_****_stop interrupting me or I will fuck your shit up_****! Jesus fucking Christ! Back to the story.**]

To try and explain where they were going? It was too difficult, but Gerard understood nonetheless. "Okay," he sighed softly, seeing the smile on his brother's lips; Mikey hardly smiled anymore. He _didn't _smile anymore. Well, unless he was referring to Gerard, that is. His brother always brought a smile across his face, even if it was a minute quirk of the lips.

"Good," Mikey murmured, straightening up and checking his watch again, "I have to make a call," he said, "come down when you're ready." Gerard nodded and watched Mikey turn to leave, only to see him stop just before the door, "Oh, and Gerard?" He asked turning back. Gerard raised his eyebrows, questioningly. "Thank you." And then he was gone.

Gerard sighed again, but he stood up and went to take a shower anyways. It took longer than normal for Gerard to hop out of the shower, but Mikey knew that's where Gee did his thinking. There was certainly a lot for Gerard to think about tonight, so he was lenient, even if he was eager to see his friends. Besides, Gerard was fragile and vulnerable—_and_ _dangerous_—when he felt his safety was being compromised, and it definitely felt compromised going to a social event with so many people.

_And _he was supposed to be going on a date. Ha, what a fucking joke.

When Gerard finally _did _come downstairs, he was wearing what Mikey had given him plus a black 'Misfits' sweatshirt. It was slightly small, but Gerard was pretty thin so he didn't mind. He grabbed his green high-tops and stood, awkwardly, before his brother. Mikey set down the pizza he was eating and gave Gee a once-over. Decent.

"Good," Mikey said plainly and Gerard smiled at him. Mikey pulled out his keys, wallet, and lucky picture of a scarecrow that Gerard had drawn for him. He went over his items to make sure he had them all before stuffing them back into his tight pockets. "Ready?" Mikey said, eyeing the shoes that were still in Gerard's hand.

"No," Gerard squeaked, looking terrified. Mikey just regarded him with that small smile of his and went outside. Gerard followed obediently, locking the door behind him and getting into the passenger's seat.

Once settled he waited for Mikey to start driving to pick up a friend before actually putting his shoes on. It was a nervous habit of Gerard's; well, one of them anyway. Gerard could have from none to fifty nervous habits at any given moment of any day. It all depended on where he was.

Mikey glanced over and quirked a thin, but overly expressive, eyebrow up at him. Gerard just made a small noise of protest and discomfort. "You didn't give me anything to shield my neck! You get a badass leather jacket and I'm stuck with this bullshit." He gestured to himself.

Today had been a good day, until he came to the shoes. The shoes always scared Mikey, but he wasn't sure why. Maybe because it was so normal compared to the other habits. Either way, Gerard didn't care if it scared Mikey—his shoes were _not _to be put on before he was in a moving vehicle, and wouldn't be taken off until he was home in his room again.

"Mikey," Gerard started quietly as he stared out the window, "Why did they—leave? Forever, I mean." It was a frequently asked question that received the same half-assed reply every time. Some bullshit about 'I don't know, Gerard. I know as much as you do,' but everyone knew that wasn't true. Mikey knew everything; after their grandmother died Gerard couldn't talk—wouldn't talk—to anyone. It took a few years for him to say anything to Mikey, let alone hold an actual conversation. Donna and Donald Way had left Gerard and Mikey, ages 20 and 17, to fend for themselves.

That was a long time ago, and tonight Mikey wasn't going to lie.

"To be honest, Gee," he sighed turning onto a side street, "I don't think they knew they were leaving. Forever, I mean." There was a hint of a smile in Mikey's voice, but Gerard didn't want to look. He was too busy mulling over what his brother had just revealed to him, and he didn't know how he felt about that.

They'd pulled up to a nice house that was just outside the city and waited for a girl with dark hair to come dashing down her front steps and hop into the backseat. "Hey Mikey! Gerard!" She greeted them breathlessly as she closed the door behind herself.

[**Hey! That's me!**]

[**Jams…**]

[**Fork. Right. Sorry**.]

"Nice to see that you could make it," she added, with a smile, leaning forward so her head was between the passenger seat and the driver seat. Now Gerard retreated into mute-mode, even though he'd known her for almost five years now.

She turned toward Gerard who avoided her stare, suddenly interested in the decades-old sticker on the dashboard, "Your date will be so excited th—" but she was quickly cut off by Mikey who quietly and politely interrupted her.

"No dates for Gerard, Jams," he said checking the rearview mirror before moving into another lane that would take them out of the suburbs and into the middle of nowhere…literally.

"Why not!?" She pouted, leaning back in her seat and folding her arms across her chest. "I barely got him out of the house," Mikey explained gently, "there was no chance to get him on a date with someone." Gerard closed his eyes and silently thanked whatever higher power was out there for having a brother like Mikey.

Mikey was a good guy; he never raised his voice unless absolutely necessary, and he never said something mean or hateful to anybody. But that didn't stop the trace of a smirk in his voice as he spoke. Quite obviously he was proud of himself for getting his brother to leave, and was rewarding himself mentally.

"But he'll be so disappointed!" Jams whined, "Gee looks so good tonight! It's not fair!" Okay, yeah, Gerard looked good. Better than good, actually. He looked _stellar_! But that was because he naturally looked very nice…and spent hours in front of a mirror, obsessing over how horrible he always looked.

Gerard's eyes went wide, and he flushed completely red before turning to look out the window. As the trees and vast forest overtook his vision he couldn't help but start to count any flecks of dirt he could see in the window; another nervous habit.

Gerard sighed in desperation. Jams and Mikes argued for the rest of the ride—the fucking _45_ _minute_ ride—about the blind date, neither of them giving up until they worked themselves into a fuming silence. It was a silent agreement that Gerard could make that decision for himself, even if they both knew what would end up happening.

To Gerard it was bad enough that he had to go somewhere public with so many…people…but he couldn't—wouldn't—say one word to them! He didn't think he'd imagined feeling so lightheaded, but maybe it was all in his mind. They also agreed that they weren't going to tell anyone who, or what, Gerard was.

After what seemed like a lifetime, Mikey _finally _pulled into a parking lot. Well, it was more like a grassy area where cars parked, but, eh, who were they to judge? Gerard looked up from his folded hands in his lap and almost choked; there was a huge black tent with smoke coming from the open door, and a broken mirror at the entrance. He looked over at Mikey, looking dazed.

"I know right?" Mikey said, eyes dancing with amusement, "But we're going across to the street." Gerard's body visibly relaxed with a hint of disappointment. To people who didn't know Gerard, they would have thought he was scared of this horrifying mysterious tent. Mikey knew better; he could see that his brother was ecstatic upon their arrival.

Gerard sulked in silence as he got out of the car, and Jams grabbed his arm practically pulling him across the street. Yes, the party was in a bar. However, the building served many purposes—during the daytime and non-performance hours it was a mess hall, poker hall, general commons area, and meeting spot.

At night it was open to those who drove out into the middle of 'we-could-get-murdered-and-nobody-would-find-us' territory, and paid to see a haunted carnival that gave you the feeling that you _could _get murdered and nobody would find you. _That _was when they served alcohol, because, hey! Who wouldn't need something numbing to help you forget what you just saw?

Most bars were depressing, but this bar wasn't one to be dreary and dark, seeing as they tried to balance out the dark depression on one side of the street with happiness and liveliness on the other. It looked bright inside, which worried Gerard. He was afraid he'd approach and see a sign that said, "No. You can't just come in. NO VERMIN. NO OUTSIDERS. NO UNDESIRABLES." He was afraid that the lights would be too bright for him to see, and he'd pass out. He was afraid that everyone in there would look down at him like he was some nocturnal freak and judge him for something he couldn't help.

But at the same time, Mikey had told Gee that this was a group of natural freaks, so maybe it wasn't really something new to them. Maybe Gerard would be too normal for them. Oh God! What if he _was _too normal for them?! He'd never live it down.

He groaned and rubbed his hands over his face, careful not to smudge his eyeliner. He'd tried to drag Jams backwards the entire way to the door, but Mikey had helped her half way and pushed him from behind so Gerard decided to offer no resistance. When they finally reached the door he had come to a complete stop and listened to all the sounds coming from the thick oak door in front of him.

There _was _a sign on the front of the door, and for a second Gerard panicked, but then; "Come inside already! You, er, look pretty idiotic just standing there…just an FYI." Upon reading this he was horrified to find a smile trying to worm its way across his face. Mikey caught his expression and smirked, opening the door for him and Jams.

Gerard rolled his eyes and mentally beat himself for finding that heartwarming.

Ugh.

This was going to be a _long _evening.


	2. Did I Tell You How I Met My Best Friend

Did I Tell You How I Met My Best Friend?

_"Do you remember that day when we met?" -My Chemical Romance_

* * *

**48 HOURS EARLIER**

"No, no. That's _completely wrong_," Ray rubbed his brow in frustration hopping out of his chair. He pointed towards the entrance of the tent, "Nate! Go tell Alex and Ryland that, while a giant bouncy castle may be fun, it just doesn't work for us!" Then he waved his hand dismissively and watch as Nate's shoulders dropped pathetically before trudging outside.

[**Ha! Now ****_I _****get to tell the story. Suck on that Gerard!**]

[**Aw, shut up, Ray! Nobody likes you anyways…**]

[**Ouch. Harsh. Now, now, Gerard. Keep your claws in, this is Ray's turn.**]

[**Thanks Frank.**]

[**We're switching halfway through, though. I want some time to get my side of the story in!**]

[**Fine, fine. Now let metell the story! So I was talking about…**]

Nate was usually the one who talked to Ray about the crazy or strange ideas that Pete or Alex or Ryland came up with, and strangely enough he was typically the one to be most disappointed when the answer was 'No!'

"Okay then," Ray sighed, turning on his heel to face the rest of the giant, brightly lit tent. When the lights were on, it didn't look terrifying in the slightest; in fact, there were yellow flowers strung up on Christmas lights that circled the entire perimeter the tent. They tried to keep the lights on as long as possible because turning them off transformed the civilized carnival tent into a Twilight-Zone mysterious haunted wasteland.

Purple walls, about 10 feet tall, had been set up everywhere to section the space off into various areas of entertainment connected by a maze.

[**That was a horrible, yet accurate, description of our tent…stop it.**]

[**Shut up, Mikey!**]

[**Jeez! Try and offer advice and suddenly you—**]

[**Shut. Up.**]

That was the whole idea, actually; The Parade was, essentially, a haunted house. Of course, it was more intense and kept you on edge, but that was beside the point. To his left Ray saw two old tables full of various human body parts—they were plastic, of course…usually—and to his right people were trying to figure out how to set up Brendon's magic act.

_Boom_.

Just over the top of the wall in front of him, Ray saw a bright flash of light, and the power in the whole tent flickered off. As he fumbled to grab his flashlight he heard a collective 'not again' come from various people around him. It would have been okay to suspect Alex or Pete, but something sounded off when there was a distinct, "_Shit!_" that sounded afterwards.

Ray inched forward, looking for a break in the panels of the wall, but by the time he even spotted it, the lights were on and running. They had literally only been off no longer than five seconds.

"Yo, B!" Ray called resting a hand on the wall. The only response was a faint groan, "What's up? You trying to set the place on fire on your first day of work?" Ray smiled, but rolled his eyes because could practically hear the blush that flooded Brendon's face.

He was so innocent; the way he jumped at the smallest of things! The way he stuttered when he talked to anyone, because he felt so confused. He's like a baby! His purity needed to be protected from the others; namely Pete, Ryland, and Nate. _But_ even if he'd only been with them for 72 hours—only having met Ray, Frank, and Bob—Ray wondered (not for the first time) 'Why is this my job?'

Even if the lights were on, Ray slid open the panel in front of him only to expose Brendon lying on the ground, and—yep—his face was just as red as Ray had suspected. He groaned again before sitting up and pulling a very dangerous looking wire-exposed cable out from under his leg. "Uh…technical difficulties," Brendon replied, ducking his head. Ray sighed, by smiled nonetheless.

"What even happened?" Ray asked pointing to the portable electric box that Brendon used to control the effects. He had more than one control box, but this one controlled the lights specifically.

"Just some power problems; nothing that can't be fixed." Brendon stood up, taking the box with him and leaving the sizzling cable on the ground. Ray frowned at it and kicked it. It sparked wildly and then went dead. Brendon stood next to him awkwardly, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Ray gave him a sidelong glance before rolling his eyes for the nth time today and turning to face everyone.

"Okay, guys," he said checking his watch: yep, it was midnight. He clapped his hands together, happily, before continuing, "It is officially one day before we open, and we haven't eaten anything all week, so I suggest that you…all…go…to," Ray's sentence died out; as he was talking everyone completely ignored anything he said after 'open' and immediately left the tent to go across the street.

Well…at least Brendon was still there.

"So…we go eat?" He mumbled, turning bright red.

"Yes, Brendon. We go eat, but first turn the lights down to half." Ray sighed, but this time it wasn't at Brendon's obvious social deficit. The lights were down half-way so that they weren't wasting energy, but could still see where they were going. He was about to usher Brendon out of the tent when someone caught Ray's eye; Pete.

"Hey, Ray! Wait up!" He called before picking up his pace to meet Ray at the door. It was when Pete caught sight of Brendon that his pace slowed down and his face changed from excitement to shock to smug. Oh no. Ray had to get Brendon out of there, and _fast_. See, Pete took great pride in causing everyone misery, and poor Bren would probably just sit there and take it.

"Go to the bar and eat." Ray muttered to the awkward man next to him.

"Uh, just by…"

"Yes! By yourself." He could handle _that _right?

[**You know, I find that extremely offensive.**]

[**Why?**]

[**Because, er, well…**]

[**Yeah, B, that's what I thought.**]

It was simple enough. And, okay, it wasn't actually a bar. It served many purposes, as a matter of fact. They ate there, played cards, practiced their acts…laughed at people who failed when practicing their acts. It was all in good fun, really!

Brendon looked utterly frightened and completely embarrassed as Ray shooed him out of the tent, glancing back at Pete, who was still a good twenty feet away. After a final check that Brendon was okay by himself, Ray turned around and was extremely surprised; Pete had stopped dead in his tracks and looked…sad?

"Uh, you okay?" Ray asked. "You look…depressed or something like that." And suddenly Pete's entire expression warped just as quickly as it had come.

"Are you fucking kidding me?!" He asked laughing and clapping Ray on the back. Well, it was good to see that the old Pete was back instead of some scary version that came with emotions.

"Just looked different is all." Ray shrugged and closed the door to the tent. And it wasn't really a 'door' per say. More along the lines of a piece of tough fabric that got pinned and zippered down from bottom to top of the opening they called the door.

"Well, Ray, my friend." Pete said stopping again but keeping a firm hold on Ray's shoulder. "It's that time." He looked up to the moon and sighed, "The best time of the year."

"Okay, wait, what?" Ray shrugged Pete's arm off and turned to face him. "_That time _doesn't happen until the 31st! It's only the 19th, so you can just calm the fuck down."

"But the preparation!" Pete said, exasperated but still smiling.

"Yeah, it only takes, like, a week. Not this long." Ray's brows furrowed as Pete stretched in the moonlight and took in a deep breath.

"Not this year, my friend, not this year. There's something different, and I'm not sure what it is or what it _will _be, but there's something completely different coming. I gotta be ready, right?!" _Click_. That was the sound of something in Ray's mind starting to make sense.

"Is that why you looked depre—weird when you saw Brendon?" He almost let the 'd' word slip again. Pete was kinda strange about stuff like that; if you accused him of something he freaked the fuck out. Okay, that's not entirely true, if you accused him of _being_ something he freaked out. If you accused him of _doing _something he just giggled like a schoolgirl and blamed the nearest respiring object.

[**…Fuck you, Ray.**]

[**If you're lucky, princess.**]

"Yeah. I guess. Not really. Yeah." Pete's nose twitched and he shrugged.

"I'm sure you'll be, er, I'm sure you'll figure it out." Ray gave him an awkward smile. "There is nothing that could happen this year that we couldn't handle. I promise." Pete threw his hands into the air and made a frustrated sound.

"Ray!" He exclaimed, "Have you never seen a horror movie? Or _any_ movie in general?!" Ray seemed confused, but only had a vague understanding of where he was going with this.

"Yeah, I mean, I've seen Trick 'r Treat, and Nightmare on Elm Street, and watched Supernatural and—"

"So," Pete interrupted taking Ray by the shoulders and starting to guide him across the street and towards the door of the lively, brightly lit building. "If you've seen all of those then you know the rule, right?" No reply. "Basically, you are _never _supposed to say something like that! It's like when someone in a movie says 'Everything's fine!' and they're being stabbed to death in the next scene! With that mindset we have to tell ourselves that we will _never _be able to handle whatever's coming this year. Understand?"

"No." Ray said matter-of-factly, "But you're Pete. So I see where you're coming from." And that wasn't a lie in the slightest; Pete was the most superstitious person Ray had ever met, and that was saying a lot considering that everyone in the Parade was special. Especially since Frank was…

[**Hey! We're not there.**]

[**Well…I guess you're right**.]

[**Damn straight!**]

"Good," Pete flashed a toothy smile before gesturing towards the door, "Oh, please! Ladies first." Ray rolled his eyes, and he could barely remember thinking something along the lines of 'Nobody will ever find out about this. Pete is overreacting. We will never be in a situation we can't handle. It's just a fact.'

[**Dun, dun, dun! Oooo, what'll happen next?!**]

[**Shut the fuck up, Pete**.]

XxXxXxXxX

[**Stawp it!** **Okey, okey! My turn!**]

[**Take it away, Frank!**]

"No, he just started pissing everywhere." Bob said shaking his head, "I've never seen anyone that drunk in my entire life, and I'm pretty fuckin' well-rounded, man. I've seen some weird-ass shit." Without giving it a second though, he pulled a dollar out of his wallet and dropped it in the jar in the center of the table.

It was two in the morning and nobody could sleep. Well, nobody could spend any more time in the bar, so they headed back to their trailers. Alex, Ryland, and Nate went back to Alex's place to, er, sleep. Chantal, Alicia, and Christa went to Jimmy's trailer—also to sleep. Jimmy, on the other hand, was with Joey, Bert, and Hayley playing an intense game of guitar hero at Hayley's. Pete was on his phone, on the other side of the room, desperately working up the courage to say something intelligible. Whoever was left consisted of Bob, Ray, Frank, Brendon, and Lyndzey.

They were recalling times when people they used to know did crazy shit, like take a piss on a police car. Bob's stories were the best, because they seemed to come from nowhere, but were strangely realistic.

"What even happened to him?" Ray asked after recovering from a laughing spasm.

"I think he went to jail for selling crack," Bob said, shrugging, "But that was after he crucified a head of broccoli, and burned a bunch of Bible's in a cemetery." This induced another round of laughter from everyone, "Un-fucking-believable, I'll tell you." Bob laughed.

Brendon turned to Frank, "What about you, Frank?" He asked with a big smile.

Frank shrugged, "Well…" he was taking on that tone of I-don't-have-anything-to-say, but everyone knew that was a lie, and groaned 'Aw come on, Frank!' until he finally gave in. "Okay, okay!" He cried, throwing his hands up in defeat, "You guys are like vultures, man." He shakes his head, settling into his seat, before launching into his story.

"Wait, don't start yet!" Brendon cried as the phone in his pocket starts buzzing. He takes it out, frowns down at the caller ID and holds up his finger before getting up and walking away.

"Ah, fuck Brendon," Bob says waving his hand, "tell the damn story." Everyone whooped and cheered in agreement, and Frank giggled at their animosity towards their youngest friend.

[**You guys are assholes.**]

[**To each his own, Bren. To each his own.**]

"So, uh, I've been trying to avoid telling this story, because…it's half embarrassing on my part but whatever," Frank was already laughing at his story as he formulated the best way to tell it. "This was, like, five years ago, so I was fourteen or thirteen. Can't remember. My friend—this guy Mike—and I begged our parents to take us to see Harry Potter 5 at midnight."

"Oh, it's _this _story," Ray said knowingly. He wasn't fond of this story, because it involved him slightly, but it was absolutely insane (and pretty fucking hilarious). "I still can't believe it," Ray said shaking his head and laughing.

Frank smiled, "We searched everywhere, but it was all sold out, so they agreed to drive four fucking hours from home to see it."

Ray snorted, "My mom wouldn't have driven me four hours to a hospital if my life depended on it." Everyone laughed at that and looked at Frank eagerly.

"Well this is Harry Potter, Ray, not your life!" He giggled, "Right, where was I? Oh yeah! So we had driven four hours to this damn movie that my mom had reserved tickets for; the rents were gonna go to a bar or some shit like that. Anyways, our parents dropped us off just as people were being let in so we rushed up and asked for our tickets."

"Uh-oh," Lyndzey snickered, seeing where this was going.

"It gets better!" Frank promised glancing at Ray who just nodded, "The dick at the ticket booth—he was, maybe, three years older than me—was all, 'We don't have any reservations for a Frank Iero', but what this douche didn't realize was that I could clearly see the envelope with my name on it sitting right in fucking front of him!"

"Dick probably wanted to go see it himself," Bob muttered rolling his eyes.

"Right?! Either way, I just snapped on this guy, like, no joke. I started goin' ape-shit! 'Dude! What the fuck?! I can see the tickets right there, what the hell are you saying? We drove four fucking hours to see this movie, there's no way we're not getting in!' The guy picks up the envelope, and he's strangely calm, and shows me that there's nothing inside. He obviously made a mistake! So I take the envelope from him and look at it myself. Meanwhile Mike is just standing here looking very thoughtful. Not angry, not excited, just thoughtful, which seems fuckin' weird, right?"

"What'd I miss?" They heard as Brendon ran up to them, hair looking wind-swept.

"Nothing. Sit the fuck down," Lyndzey glared at him, put a dollar in the jar, and motioned for Frank to continue.

"God, Brendon's here…" Frank muttered, taking ten dollars and putting it in the jar, "So, a minute later, and after I was starting to draw some attention, because I'm a little shit, Mike tugged on my sleeve. I turned to him and I was like, 'What?!' and he just points to something that I can't see, and apparently neither can the ticket booth guy because we both look really confused. At the same time we both say 'What are you pointing at?' He just says, 'The envelope underneath.' So the ticket guy, kinda pissed the fuck off, picks up the 'Frank Iero' envelope and there was _one_ ticket underneath that said 'Mike W.' on it."

Bob whistled, "Ouch, that's harsh." Ray snorted in disapproval.

"Just wait! It. Gets. Better." Frank is almost in hysterics now, "Like, I can't even fucking believe this happened to me! Jesus! Oh God, so I'm pretty mad at _him_ now too, like, who the fuck does that to a friend? And I couldn't just call my mom to come get me! The ticket guy hands Mike the ticket, giving me a smirk. And right in front of him, right in front of _EVERYONE _Mike takes the ticket and rips it in half!"

"Okay, who the hell is this kid and what mental hospital did he escape from?" Ray said, caught somewhere between feigned horror and genuine giddiness.

"Just…hold on, okay? You know this story, let everyone enjoy. Because _it gets better_," Frank just rubs his face and shifts in his seat, "At this point everyone is confused. After me bitching out the ticket guy, Mike deceiving me, and then wasting that precious fucking ticket, I don't even know what to do with myself. Do I punch the ticket guy? Do I punch Mike? Do I punch the guy behind me who was complaining about me being loud? All three of them?! I DON'T KNOW!

"I was about to leave when Mike grabbed my sleeve and I'm just like, 'What?!' He points to the envelope that the ticket guy is holding. 'You want this?' he asks. Mike just nods and when he gets the envelope he puts the two halves of that ticket inside, rips up the envelope _and _the ticket into tiny pieces, puts the pieces in my hand, grabs the ticket guys hand and puts it over mine. He rubs our hands together and, I kid you not, when the guy pulled away there was a clean envelope with 'Frank Iero' written on it, and two tickets inside."

"God, that story still brings back so many strange memories…" Ray shuttered.

"Wait," Brendon said, "So when did Frank tell _you _this story?"

"Yeah, I was kinda wondering that too," Bob said, actually agreeing with Brendon.

"Oh," Frank said snickering, "Didn't I tell you? That's how I met Ray."

"Oh. My. God." Lyndzey said, unbelieving. "There's no way that you were that ticket guy! You never take that kinda shit from anyone!" She also pulled out a dollar and put it in the jar.

"I took my break after that, and actually went to see the movie with them." Ray told them shrugging, "I quit after Mike got us thrown out of the theatre for being disruptive. But that kid never fucking said anything! But some douche behind us told security it was us being annoying and not them. Whatever. They weren't paying me enough anyways."

Lyndzey grabbed the money-filled jar and held it up, "Anyone else got a story?" she asked. "The jar looks pretty empty."


	3. Get a Fucking Thesaurus

Get a Fucking Thesaurus!

_"Well she was lookin' kinda dumb..." -Smash Mouth_

* * *

**36 HOURS BEFORE THE 'PARTY'**

"Listen," Frank said to Lyndzey, "I'm not really…" he paused for a second, "ready to go on a date, you know?" They were lounging around his surprisingly spacious trailer along with Bob and Ray who had joined the two to sleep for the night. Frank was sitting on the small bed, knees pulled up to his chest, Lyndzey was sitting on the ground with her back leaning against the bed; they were watching Bob and Ray fight to the death in Mario Party 2 for the Nintendo 64—man, that thing was fucking _old_.

"Why?" Lyndzey asked, barely sparing him a glance before turning back to the intense action. Well…as intense as this could get which was _very _intense, considering how Mario Party in general was a hard game to win.

"First of all," I cannot count the number of times I told you I _didn't _want to go on this date," Frank ticked off a finger. "Secondly, I hate blind dates with a burning passion strong enough to melt your skin," he ticked off another finger. "And last, but certainly not fucking least, I just don't think dating is good for me right now." He ticked off the last finger before crossing his arms over his chest in a huff.

"And I don't care what you way! Personally, I have to wait _at least _two months after a break-up before I'm ready to even consider dating," he added in hurriedly, seeing that she had opened her mouth to protest.

"Ha, yeah man," Bob said not even bothering to look away from an intense battle between Mario and Luigi, "_nobody _wants to be your rebound-ass."

"You're real fucking funny," Frank mocked in a childish voice."

Ray actually turned around, like a decent human being, before smiling and saying, "Hey! I bet we could get Brendon to go on the date for you, and _totally _put this guy off!" There was a long silence where everyone—yeah, Bob paused the fucking game—just stared at Ray before someone actually said something.

"I'm not even lying when I say this," Bob said, seemingly in a daze, "That plan has got to be the most…" he couldn't find the right word, "inconceivable thing I have ever heard in my entire life." Ray just stared at him in shock. "No joke. I mean—did you fucking practice that in the mirror or something?"

"Wow…" Ray sounded like he was in total disbelief, "You just…you complimented me."

"Wait," Lyndzey interjected slightly confused, "that was a compliment?"

Bob whipped around to face her, his expression incredulous, "You don't know what 'inconceivable' means?" He sounded absolutely appalled. She flinched.

"Uh…" Her eyes were wide with anxious fear; when Bob got all super-geeky on them, he could be pretty intimidating to anyone who didn't understand him…so basically everyone but Ray and, sometimes, Frank.

[**Yeah you're kind of an asshole, Bob.**]

[**Well you're kind of a dumbass, Lyndzey.**]

[**Will you two shut the fuck up?!**]

[**_No!_**]

"Get a fucking thesaurus you idiot!" He interrupted turning back around and un-pausing the game so fast that Ray fumbled with his controller only for his character—Yoshi—to be drowned in lava.

Lyndzey turned around, '_What the fuck just happened to me?_'

Frank just shrugged, '_Don't fucking look at me, I don't control the universe._'

Then he leaned down to her, "It's synonymous for 'brilliant'," Frank said, his eyes all shifty and anxious. Lyndzey's brow furrowed and her head cocked to the side. In an urgent whisper Frank said, "Oh, _please_ tell me you know what 'synonymous' means!"

"Ha," Lyndzey said, cracking a brilliant smile, "I'm just yankin' your chain; I know what synonyms are." Frank sighed in relief and leaned back again.

The next three hours were filled with a bit of talking; a lot of swearing; a few cigarettes, on Frank's part that is; complaining about being hungry; saying they were too lazy to go get food; and a bit of dozing on and off. Finally, Bob—thankfully in a much better mood—got up and stretched. He scratched his stomach and wrinkled his nose, "I'm hungry." He announced, turning off the TV. It was four in the three in the afternoon, and they hadn't eaten anything. How had Frank not noticed?

The next think Frank knew, he let out a surprised yelp as his shoes were hitting him square in the face. "C'mon, Iero," Bob said, somehow magically already wearing his shoes. Lyndzey was sleeping soundly on the floor and he wasn't about to wake her up; she could be a raging bitch when she wanted to.

[**Excuse me?!**]

[**I—wh—nothing!**]

Ray had scurried off to his own trailer a few minutes previous after grabbing his stuff and complaining about the weather. "Where we goin'?" Frank asked following Bob out of the trailer. The second that Frank was out in the cool autumn air and bright sunlight, he hissed fiercely and fished his sunglasses out of his pocket, shoving them on his face ASAP.

Bob just laughed at him and took in a deep breath, as if to reiterate how much he loved the sun, and how cruel it was to Frank. "We're going to get food," Bob said as they walked across the boundary of trailers and eased into the 'open-to-the-public' zone. There were various workers milling about, almost all of them displaying the same demeanor as Frank, but mostly everyone stayed inside on days like this; sunny, nice, and clear just wasn't their day of choice.

Everyone in 'camp'—as Ray so liked to call it—had _some _sort of aversion to sunlight. Well, that was everyone except Bob and Nate; it was fucking weird, actually. No, not the aversion, that was normal, it was the tolerance that nobody understood; strangely enough Bob and Nate were the weird ones around here.

"But that's Nate's job!" Frank whined pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and cringing as he passed through direct sunlight. Frank squawked very unattractively as he felt someone jump on his back. Oh, and speak of the devil.

"What's my job?" Nate seemed to come out of nowhere most of the time, maybe it was because he was so tiny that nobody noticed him, but it was probably because nobody seemed to even pay attention to the fact that Nate existed, which was pretty sad.

"Food runs…that's your job, correct?" Frank questioned tilting his head to look up at Nate and shifting slightly to accommodate for the sudden weight on his back.

"Oh," Nate said tightly wrapping his arms tightly around Frank's neck and nuzzling the crook of his neck. "Yeah, that's my job, I guess." His breath tickled Frank's neck; Frank squirmed and giggled slightly.

Bob just rolled his eyes, "You two are little girls, I swear." As they approached Bob's car, Pete came into view and nodded at them. Nate slid off Franks back, stumbling slightly, "I actually just went on a food run." He told them. Pete slapped Nate on the back, extracting a small squeal before walking to the other side of the car.

"Yeah, and?" Bob said unlocking the car and getting into the driver's seat. Frank slid into the passenger's seat, and Pete was in the back.

"So why are you guys going to get food?" Nate leaned against the door and cocked and eyebrow at them.

"We missed breakfast," Frank explained, his stomach growling right on cue.

"We need to get decent food," Bob said smirking at Nate's fallen expression.

"Dick." He muttered.

"It's not that your food isn't good," Bob said honestly, "just…we need food _now _and we can't wait for you to go get the food we want, and make it, and serve it."

"And by 'we' he means 'him'." Frank told Nate, glaring at Bob for making him sad. But Nate bounced back quickly, and was bouncing on his toes with an expression of glee on his face.

"Where are you going?" He asked excitedly.

"Probably Starbucks or Teavana." Pete said, decidedly uninterested and picking lint off of his blue sweatshirt.

"Qdoba, Noodles, Starbucks, Teavana, Burger King, Hogwarts, Kansas, Gallifrey, Asgard, Space 1969. Where ever the fuck you want to go." Bob started his car and put it in reverse, and just stared at Nate expectantly.

Nate's brows furrowed, "What?" He asked. Bob just gave him an 'are-you-fucking-kidding-me' face and looked at Frank.

"Get the fuck in the car, Nate." Pete said, stating what Bob's expression read.

"Oh!" Nate said, looking surprised, "Yay!" He jumped in the backseat and hesitated before deciding to ask them something, "If we _do _go to Kansas, can we hunt monsters and _then _go to Oz?"

"I don't know why we let you watch television." Frank said, turning the radio on. Sure enough, "_Carry on my wayward son. There'll be peace when you are done. Lay your weary head to rest. Don't you cry no more…_"


	4. Why We Don't Go Shopping With Strangers

Why We Don't Go Shopping With Strangers

_"All teenagers scare the living shit outta me." -My Chemical Romance_

* * *

**33 HOURS BEFORE THE 'PARTY'**

"Hello, welcome to Starbucks, my name is Gabe. How can I help you?" The dude on the intercom sounds bored shitless, and also sounds pretty cool. Bob can just tell; no visuals needed. The first place Nate, Frank, Bob and Pete go is Burger King, but decide to leave immediately after Pete walks up to the cash register and orders a Big Mac just to be a douche bag.

[**Fuck you; that was funny!**]

[**No, Pete…that was embarrassing. Now we're banned from Burger King.**]

[**Well then it's the Burger King who's a douche; not me.**]

"Uh, yeah," Bob says scratching his beard contemplatively. As he opens his mouth to order, everyone in the car suddenly stops whatever it is they're doing and yells what they want into the com. Bob honks his horn to get them to shut the fuck up, and ignores the disgusted looks he gets from the two girls leaving Starbucks who are probably not old enough to be in middle school; he really doesn't give a shit. "I'll get two venti Java Chip frappuccino's, two venti Pumpkin Spice lattes, and seven chocolate muffins."

In the back seat Pete has gone back to looking out the window like he's searching for something, and Nate is leaning against his shoulder, trying to sleep. Frank just smiles to himself; his favorite part of ordering food for more than just himself is the shock that overcomes the staff of wherever they happen to be going; it's hysterical to receive 65 dollars worth of food from McDonalds and fit it all in one car.

However, today wasn't one of those days. In fact, the guy over the com—Gabe—didn't seem surprised in the least, "That'll be 45.32. Please proceed to the next window. Thank you for stopping at Starbucks."

_Damn_. How fucking shitty can life get to receive _that _response?! Frank almost feels personally offended, and Bob's eyes narrow: Challenge accepted. See, Bob was a Good Samaritan, despite the popular belief that he eats the hearts of children for desert after a meal of rotting flesh.

[**Totally fucking gross, dude.**]

[**I think you mean 'Accurate', Mikey.**]

[**No, Frank, I think I mean ****_totally fucking gross, dude_****.**]

Bob could never just sit by and watch other people suffer, especially if they were awesome. Okay, _only _if they were awesome, but it only matters that Bob wants to make a difference…in other words, he wants to be nice. And Gabe was giving off horrible-life vibes that Bob desperately wanted to address. So he did, "Frank." Bob said.

"Already on it," Frank said rummaging through the compartment in the dashboard. Where was it, where was it? Ah! There it was. "Here you go." Frank handed a small card and a 50 dollar bill to Bob who was already waiting at the next window.

"45.32?" When Nate looked out his window he squealed slightly, and flailed his arms. Pete had to hold him down from injuring anyone in the car. The guy at the window seemed young, 19 or 20, and extremely tall. He was wearing a purple sweatshirt under his green apron, and his visor was tilted to the side with his short dark hair sticking up in the front. His eyes were dark and, let's face it, he was damn attractive. Man did Bob know how to pick 'em.

"You must be Gabe." Bob said, giving a knowing look.

The guy shrugged, "You must be the customer who orders 45 dollars worth of food…from Starbucks." Bob—almost—laughed and just handed over the money. When Gabe came back with their change and bag of muffins, Bob dutifully gave them to Frank instead of Pete, knowing they might get eaten otherwise.

"Let's just cut to the chase, shall we?" Bob said, stopping Gabe before he could leave to get their drinks. He handed Gabe the small card Frank had given him. Gabe grabbed the card, and looked at it with a blank expression. Instead of tearing it up or throwing it away or yelling at Bob, like most people, Gabe just stuck the card in his visor and listened to what Bob had to say. "You've been working here for, what, a year? Two? You hate this job, but the hours are okay and you get a lot of money, but, again: you hate it."

In the background they could faintly hear someone yelling "Saporta! Come get these drinks before I sell them or drink them myself!" The corner of Gabe's mouth twitched, like he wanted to smile but was too bored to try. "That your boss?" Bob asked, raising an eyebrow. Gabe just nodded, "Seems like a dick…why do you work here, again?"

"Never said," Gabe told them in his strangely deep yet characteristically squeaky voice. "And I mean…c'mon. He isn't _that_ bad. He couldn't fire me if he wanted to. He hates working the drive-thru."

"Oh, really? Kinda seems stuck up," Bob liked that Gabe was actually talking in complete sentences, and wasn't going to stomp out his creative-streak. Pete was still looking out the window, Nate had, successfully, fallen asleep, and Frank was just observing.

"Nah," Gabe said getting comfortable on the ledge of the window. "He's actually nicer than anyone I've ever met. He's got some fucked up social anxiety. I'm surprised he said more than two words. That fills his quota for, at least, one week."

[**Okay, wow. Really, Gabe? One week?**]

[**Fine, fine! Two weeks.**]

[**Not. What. I. Meant.**]

"Gabe!" Except this time it was more like a whine. Frank could hear the distress in the voice of Gabe's boss, and felt kinda bad; Gabe, while he seemed really cool, seemed to be a horrible employee.

Without turning away from Bob, Gabe stuck his hand out behind him and called, "Hand it over, Way!" Someone—couldn't really tell who, considering that Frank or even Bob couldn't see him—came over and handed Gabe the tray of drinks. Without batting an eyelash he whipped his hand around and stuck it through the drive-thru window. Bob took them, handing them in a Gabe-ish way to Frank.

"Hm, I'd love to stay and talk," Bob actually didn't sound sarcastic, for the first time in his entire life. And it was kinda endearing. Gabe still seemed unfazed, seeming to know where this might be going, "I get off in ten." He said passively, looking like he was going to fall asleep,

Bob beamed at him, "You catch on fast, Gabe. I can tell we're going to be the bestest of friends ever." Aaaaaand back to the sarcasm. Frank rolled his eyes, sipping at his latte and stuffing a muffin into his mouth, which proved to be more difficult than originally intended because those were some huge-ass muffins, and Frank was a small-ass dude.

[**Watch yourself, Way.**]

[**So scared.**]

[**Gera—**]

[**Yeah, I remember. Powers of the unknown and all that shit.**]

"Can't wait," Gabe said, cracking a humorless smile. He hops off the ledge and starts to walk away, and Bob takes his car out of 'P' and puts it in 'D'. He's about to pull away when Gabe walks back up to the window and sticks his head out again. "Oh, I'm bringing someone with me."

"Better not be your boss."

"He wouldn't come if his brother's life depended on it."

"Well then. We're back in business." Bob shoots him a wolfish grin and peels away from the curb, jolting Nate awake and pulling Pete out of his trance. Bob is speeding 20 over, and Frank can clearly see his destination, though he doesn't understand how they'll be in and out in 10 minutes.

Wal-Mart.

XxXxXxXxX

Turns out that Gabe knew where they were headed; how he knew has remained, to this day, a mystery. Also it turns out that the Gabe they met at Starbucks—apathetic, boring, tired—was nothing like the crazy fucker that ended up at Wal-Mart with them. At the moment he was being chased down the frozen-foods section by the 'friend' he'd brought along. Frank wasn't even sure that he could classify Patrick as a friend of Gabe's because Gabe had the reserve of a horse on steroids, and Patrick had the spontaneity of someone who was, well, not living.

[**I honestly appreciate that you didn't say 'dead'.**]

[**Glad to know ****_something _****I do makes you happy.**]

"Gabe, come back!" Patrick called—well not so much 'called' but, like, firmly suggested—after Gabe who had arms full of freezey-pops and frozen fish fingers. Pete trailed behind him, slowly, fidgeting and twitching slightly looking as if he were using all of his strength to restrain himself from going ape-shit and killing someone. Bob just sighed as he followed Nate pushing Frank in a grocery cart; Pete needed to get his shit together.

Actually, it's pretty funny. The way they all met for the first time that is. Bob chuckles to himself as he remembers the look on Pete's face; they had just parked and walked into to the store, looking around for exactly what they needed—food, and good food at that. It didn't hurt that Wal-Mart had clothes and games sections also. Naturally Nate and Frank ran—and that's fucking _ran_—to the to the foods section grabbing a cart. Frank hopped inside and Nate pushed him down the aisles, close enough to the shelves that he could stick his arm out and collect dozens of chips, soup packages, candy, and tofu at one time.

Bob and Pete walked along the other aisles to get other things like make-up, [**I fucking needed eyeliner, stop laughing at me!**], toilet paper, deodorant, bottles of soda and a giant jar of pickles. The four met up, putting all of Bob and Pete's stuff in the cart with Frank, leaving plenty of room for anything else they'd need.

[**I'm not that fucking small! I mean, come ****_on_****!**]

[**Frank…you could have squeezed into the baby seat in the front of the cart.**]

[**_What the fuck did you say to me, Wentz?!_**]

[**Nothing! I, er—GERARD!**]

[**Don't look at me. You brought this on yourself.**]

"Hey!" They heard just before someone in a purple sweatshirt skidded by them on a skateboard, and went flying, face first, into a display of—luckily—pillows. The four boys just stood, utterly dumbfounded, at Gabe as he rolled over and gave them a shit-eating grin.

"I'm sorry about him…" a timid and nervous voice came from behind them. A relatively short, slightly pudgy, and hopelessly adorable guy was standing before them. He was wearing pink converse, black pants, a yellow t-shirt, green jacket, and one of those knit caps with the tiny visor on the front. He had his hand up to his hat, trying to shield his flushed face, and he was holding a camera.

"What's there to be sorry about?" Both Gabe and Frank said, at the same time. He'd stood up and was leaning on the cart by Frank staring at everyone with an expectant grin. Frank giggled and squirmed in the cart, pushing aside a few bags of Tostitos and making an empty space next to him.

"Nate! Hop in! Gabe's taking over." Everyone knew this was a bad idea. Gabe, Nate, _and _Frank? They're just lucky that Frank wasn't feeling up to his usual self lately—completely understandable around this time of year—and that Nate was so tired. Still, Gabe had enough energy for all three of them plus an army of ten thousand so they were a bit on overload.

"No! Oh-ho-ho-no!" Bob walked up and grabbed Nate by the hips as he was climbing in beside Frank. Nate made a small noise of protest as Bob slung him over his shoulder and pointed a stern finger at Frank. "I just got banned from fucking _Burger King_—the only place on earth with the least amount of standards for human beings—and I will not, repeat, _will fucking not _let you get me banned from WAL-MART! Because we all see how happy Bob gets when someone fucks up, right Pete?"

But there was only silence.

"Pete?" Bob's brows furrowed and he turned around—Nate whined in pain as his head banged against the cart. And that's when Bob felt like a scientist; like he'd discovered something brand new for the first time, and was so fucking happy about it he just couldn't handle himself. Pete looked…well…

Patrick and Pete had switched stances. Pete had a hand covering his flushed face, and Patrick just stood there looking around, and paying only little attention to the situation at hand. Oh, Patrick. Poor oblivious Patrick.

[**Fuckin' thanks, Bob.**]

[**This is my story, fuck off.**]

"FUCKING OW!" Nate shrieked as Bobs arms dropped letting him slide off his shoulder and fall directly to the ground banging his head, once again, on the cart. ("Walk it off, Novarro." Frank had said, kicking his leg out and hitting Nate in the face.) They really were lucky that he had such tough skin for a tiny dude.

"Are you okay?!" Patrick asked eyes wide with terror, brought back to reality by Nate's cries of unadulterated agony. Pete, too, looked up to see what was going on, and his face clouded over immediately once he realized what was going on and _holy fucking shit fuck damn_. This must have been the goddamned apocalypse because that was fucking **_jealousy _**plastered all over the face of one cynical and emotionless Pete Wentz.

No, seriously, was the world ending?

And obviously, since he knew fucking everything, Bob seemed to understand what was going on here, "He's fine." Bob said shooting Patrick a toothy grin receiving a glare from Pete in return.

"Bryar…" Pete warned mildly.

"What?" Bob asked all wide-eyed and innocent as fuck. Pete knew better.

Patrick, however, didn't seem to notice anything that was happening and just nodded his head in understanding. After Nate had cleaned himself up—he'd had a bit of a nose-bleed—and the six boys talked about what they were going to do for the day they all decided on one thing. They needed food, and they needed food now.

One thing led to another and, ultimately, here we are now; Gabe running amuck, Pete brooding, Bob laughing, and Frank…sleeping? Yep, sure enough, he'd fallen asleep in the cart even as Nate pushed more and more items into the cart making a loud clashing sound. "Checkout time!" Bob called to all of them, checking his watch, it was almost six and people might start to wonder what the fuck happened to them.

Naturally, three fourths of the items in the cart, plus the fish fingers and freezey-pops, had to be returned to their shelves. As Bob paid and loaded up the cart, Frank climbed on Gabe's back and drifted off again as Nate started to sway on his feet. Oh dear, those lattes really didn't do anything for them. All they had eaten all day were two muffins—three if you're Frank—and one coffee. While the sugar was greatly appreciated, it didn't exactly satisfy their hunger.

"Where to, Bob-O?" Gabe asked, smiling at them. He'd calmed down considerably from when they were in the store and Patrick looked incredibly relieved. Pete was still sulking in the passenger's seat of the car, Nate and Frank draped over each other in the back. Bob was leaning against the hood of his car checking the seven hundred text messages that he hadn't looked at until now. Slight over-exaggeration there; it was more like 50, but still.

"Well, Frankie and Nathan are due back home in two hours or so. We're all hungry, there's a Qdoba on the way back, and I'm paying. And, yes, that is an invitation," his eyes flitted towards Patrick before turning back to Gabe.

But they didn't seem to notice, and if they did they were hiding it very well, "Works for us." Gabe and Patrick shrugged after exchanging glances. So now with their two new acquaintances in tow, Bob pulled out of the parking lot and headed back the way they'd came. Nate was reenergized and hyper after eating and drinking four cups of Mountain Dew. Frank had woken up, eaten, and fallen back asleep. Everyone made small talk, but they could all tell Bob was avoiding something they knew would be a difficult conversation.

"So," he said, finally, "I have this—there's this…fuck," he ran a hand through his short hair, "I never was good at these conversations; always Frank's job." He just shook his head in frustration.

[**Yeah, you kinda sucked at that…**]

[**Did anyone ask you, Gabe?**]

[**Doesn't matter. Opinion's just as important as fact. And that's both.**]

"You okay?" Pete asked snidely, because not only was he angry and being overemotional, he remembered what this conversation was like for him two years ago.

"Actually, I'm fucking fine, thank you." Bob replies with a dry smile. He turns back to Gabe, just contemplating what to say next. His eyebrows are furrowed and Gabe's eyes are glazed over in boredom when Bob finally asks, "When did it happen?" Ah, yes, _this _was the direction that the conversation needed to be heading in.

[**Whoa! Let's not get over-confident here! They don't even know about us, yet!**]

[**They will in a fucking minute, Gabe!**]

Gabe may have the IQ of a five year old, and the common sense of a ten year old, but he certainly knew how to keep his cool; nobody, and that meant fucking _nobody_ got the jump on Gabe Saporta. Okay, maybe Patrick that ONE time, but that was logical; he was eating.

"I don't know what you mean." Gabe said eyebrows quirking up in a questioning manner. Damn this kid was good, Bob thought. Okay, how to go about this? Well, just pursue it, Bob.

"I believe the year was 2000. It was after Christmas and before New Years. Sometime in the morning actually, which is real surprising. Maybe nine or ten." Bob shrugs and gets comfortable on the hood of the car. "I was walking with my friend," he threw a meaningful glance towards Nate in the backseat; "It was a regular day, y'know?"

He shook his head, "It was pretty fuckin' scary and it…it burned, I'll admit, but I'm just…glad that I'm—he's—we're okay. He didn't mean to do it. And as fucking pissed off as I was, I believed him; I forgave him. We, kinda, sorta, live together." This was when Gabe's interested expression faltered, deflating into cold apathy.

"Well, I don't know what happened to you, but it sounds bad." Gabe said, trying to keep his expression flat. "That really isn't working," Bob said quietly, as he gave Gabe a knowing look.

"Damn," Gabe said, the corner of his mouth threatening to turn up just the slightest bit, "Seven years ago. Summer; maybe June. It was dark out, and I was alone." He cringed and Bob could understand how bad that must've felt. "Happened in a matter of seconds. Woke up feeling like I got hit by a car, which I think I did, and dazed. Didn't know what happened, why I was all bloody—if it was even _my _blood—and I never saw the dude again."

"Sucks." Bob said, shrugging. He knew better than to say 'I'm sorry,' because how shitty was that? Nobody fucking wanted pity and sympathy. They just wanted understanding. Gabe gave him a grateful look and turned towards Patrick.

"Get in the car; you're driving." He tossed him the keys and walked away.

"I-I don't…how did—what was…"

"Just follow me, Pat." Bob said clapping him on the back, hopping into the car, and revving up the engine just enough to scare the shit out of Nate and Frank who both inadvertently kicked each other in the face upon jolting awake.

[**Rude.**]

[**Both of you can shut the fuck up.**]

"Rise and shine, boys!" Bob barked out a laugh, "Wake up and greet the day."


	5. As Told By

As Told By...

_"I'm just the worst kind of guy to argue with what you might find." -My Chemical Romance_

* * *

**36 HOURS BEFORE THE PARTY…SOMEWHERE ELSE**

There came a soft knock, "Hey, Gee," Mikey's face appeared next to John Lennon's; The Beatles poster hanging on Gerard's door. Gerard just groaned in response and rolled over. Mikey didn't say anything but he could practically _hear_ the stupid smirk on his brother's stupid face.

[**Hey, I happen to **_**love**_** the stupid smirk on your brother's stupid face!**]

[**Thanks…Gabe…**]

"You do know what day it is, right?" Hm. No. Actually, Gerard did _not_ know what day it was, but he didn't bother to voice that because he knew that Mikey would, in fact, inform him of the importance of that day anyways.

"Uh-uh," Gerard said, barely shaking his head to prove his point. It was a rather pathetic attempt in Mikey's opinion. He sauntered over to the bed and flopped down beside Gerard, hitting him in the face during the process.

[**Ow…**]

"Ow," Gerard grumbled turning to face his brother. Mikey was just staring up at the ceiling, apparently thinking of nothing in particular. Well, that's what Gerard would say; Mikey always had this contemplative look on his face but, to Gerard it was practically an open book with font size 20.

"I just got off the phone—"

"Ugh, with work, I know." Gerard rolled his eyes before closing them again.

"You're supposed to be there in…" There was a silence in which Gerard could tell Mikey was checking his watch. "Two hours ago."

"But I don't _want_ to go."

"But I don't _want_ to go without electricity for the next few months."

"As much as I don't want to admit it," Gerard said, pulling himself into a sitting position, "you have a point." He yawned and stretched, looking down at Mikey who was lying with his eyes closed.

[**Did you just admit that I was right?**]

[**Shut up Mikey.**]

"What time is it?" Gerard asked, poking Mikey in the side.

XxXxXxXxX

It was another full hour before Gerard actually made it to work. It was quite frequently that he forgot he even had to go to work; his position at work was 'Manager' and he was the kind of manager who entrusted his workplace to his employees, and, since he hasn't gotten any lawsuits, he figures it's a good setup.

[**Hey, that's a fact!**]

[**Whatever, Gee.**]

"Hey guys, look who finally decided to show up to work today?"

"Hi, Ryan." Gerard smiled awkwardly and shuffled in place. He didn't feel offended at all because, the thing is, Ryan was genuinely happy to see him. This was, typically, how these conversations went; Ryan would bound up to Gerard, visibly straining himself from giving him a hug, and flourish him with questions and smiles. Don't misunderstand what's going on here! Ryan wasn't, like, in love with Gerard! No, no, no! He was, however, in love with humanity; Ryan was the most personable human being that Gerard had ever met.

[**Aw, thank you!**]

[**Anytime, Ry.**]

"Hey, yeah!" Someone called, pointing at Gerard and smiling like an idiot. "Mikey finally got you outta the house?!" Gerard smiled, this time genuinely, and sauntered over to the counter.

"Hey Jams!" He greeted reaching out and ruffling her hair. She made a noise of content and then moved away to serve a customer. "Hello welcome to Starbucks, my name is Jamia, how can I help you?"

Jamia was the Assistant Manager—it would have been Ryan but he hasn't worked there as long—and it was pretty sweet, especially considering that she was Gerard and Mikey's best friend.

Gerard walked behind the counter and back into their make-shift kitchen/break room. He spotted several employees on break, and some had dozed off on the couch that was next to the refrigerator. Those who were conscious, and some that weren't, nodded in his direction but didn't dare speak to him; they all knew his aversion to social interaction and their rule was that if Gerard talked to you, it was then okay to be as obnoxious as you wanted.

[**That is so not the rule!**]

[**That is totally the rule.**]

[**No it's not!**]

[**Gerard.**]

[**B-but…really?**]

[**Yeah, it's kinda sad.**]

When Gerard walked back out of the kitchen to see what was going on at the coffee machines—and, admittedly, it was to grab some caffeine—and sighed as he shook his head. "Gabe, get your hand out of the espresso machine."

Gabe, who was tall and therefore had big hands, turned around and gave Gerard a small smile. Gerard wasn't exactly 'Employee of the Month' when it came to attendance—actually he only scheduled work ten times a month for usually only five hours, three of which he regularly missed—but it seemed that every time he came to work, Gabe was stuck in something.

"Hey," Gabe said nodding towards Gerard, expression blank, and continuing to remove his hand from the coffee machine. Gerard just sighed and rolled his eyes, but he smiled, nonetheless; Gabe was one of those interesting types. You couldn't tell if you liked him, or wanted to rip his fucking throat out…or both.

Something caught Gerard's eye, and he felt his stomach drop. There was someone at the drive-thru, and everyone seemed to be busy. _Fucking everyone_. Except…

"Gabe!" Gerard called waving him over, "You've been promoted. Congrats, you get to talk to strangers over the com." He grabbed the headphones off the rack and handed them to him. Gabe, who had been wiping…something off of his hand, looked at Gerard expectantly—as if this were some kind of fucking practical joke—and just stood there. Gerard stomped his foot and pouted slightly.

The corners of Gabe's lips twitched up, just slightly, and he grabbed the headphones, pressing the button. "Hello, welcome to Starbucks, my name is Gabe. How can I help you?"

Well…at least he sounded enthusiastic.

[**Sarcasm**.]

[**No one asked you anything ever.**]

Gerard, in the meantime, hurried over to the order screen, looking to see what would pop up; two venti Java Chip frappuccino's, two venti Pumpkin Spice lattes, and seven chocolate muffins. _What_? Who ate that much? _What_ ate that much? But, hey, that was good money, and he wasn't about to let it go to waste.

He hurried to make the orders, and when he was done, he couldn't find Gabe. Gerard moved around one of the workers, probably Patrick, and stood on his tip-toes to find Gabe among all of the people; he was still at the fucking window! "Saporta!" He yelled, "Come get these drinks before I sell them or drink them myself!"

A few minutes later, and no reply. "Gabe!" Yeah, Gerard was perfectly aware of how bitchy and whiny he sounded, but there were people waiting—okay, just him—and stuff needed to be done. Eventually Gerard just walked up to Gabe and handed him the tray. He didn't even get a glance; typical.

A few minutes later, and Gabe was _finally_ done at the drive-thru. He walked up to Gerard, handed over his apron, and announced that he was leaving. For how long, nobody knew, but Gerard knew not to hold his breath. With every other employee he would have yelled after them, but he actually shooed Gabe out of the shop. Yeah, he was surprised and kind of annoyed that Patrick was going with him, but whatever.

He sauntered over to Jamia and was about to start a conversation—

"Gerard!" He spun on his heel to see Mikey grinning at him like an idiot. How the fuck did that kid manage to do _everything_ in his power to annoy Gerard and succeed? Gee was simply dying to know his secret.

[**I still fucking am!**]

[**Ah, young Jedi, this is not the time. I'll tell you when I'm older.**]

"Hey, Mikes!" Gerard greeted, waving Mikey over.

"I have some good news and some bad news," he informed them both. He didn't ask which they would like to hear first, because knowing Gerard he'd simply always see the negative and Jams loved all news.

"Okay, shoot." Jamia said, glancing at Gerard who had tensed up, his eyes wide with an unknown, unprecedented fear. Mikey rolled his eyes, "Remember that whole band thing I was telling you about?"

"Mikey—" Gerard warned, knowing directly where this was going; Mikey had heard of some carnival or something that needed entertainment and he was fucking thrilled about it. He told Gerard who received the news a bit less positively than expected, but Mikey never gave up. He listed all the possibilities—they wouldn't have to keep to themselves, Gerard could make (more) friends, and they would get to do something they absolutely loved.

Gerard still said no.

"Hear me out, Gee," Mikey said shooting his brother huge puppy-dog eyes. Gerard sighed in a frustrated manner but didn't say anything else. "Great. So they're in town for a few months, and I said that maybe sometime we could drop by, y'know, just to be nice." That was a lie.

"Okay, all I'm hearing is bad news." Jamia slapped Gerard's arm because she was a _huge_ advocate for the 'Gerard-Needs-A-Life-Because-This-Is-Just-Fucking-Pathetic' campaign.

[**Is **_**that**_** what you call it?**]

[**Yeah, pretty much.**]

[**Not nice to think of your life like that, Gee.**]

[**Whateven, Frank.**]

"They invited us over," Mikey offered with a shrug.

"I can see how you would consider that 'good' news."

"It fucking is good news, moron," Jams said, irritated. She didn't tolerate pessimism very well. Nor opinions that seemed slightly less optimistic than a unicorn wearing a suit of pure gold.

"So what's the bad news," Gerard asked, completely unfazed.

"Tomorrow." Gerard's brow furrowed. _Tomorrow?_ What did that mean? Surely Mikey wasn't enough of a dick to—

"Oh my God I completely forgot!" Gerard's hands flew to his head, and raked through his greasy hair. He pulled on his hair, wanting to tear it all out; how could he be so fucking stupid?!

"Yeah, apparently."

"Shit, Mikey, you know I can't…I-I didn't—this just isn't fair!" Okay, cue the temper tantrum. However, Mikey had been expecting this. He grabbed Gerard by the arm and dragged him over to a slightly more secluded area of the kitchen as Jamia followed them.

"Gerard, you're a big boy now, okay? I told you a month ago, and you forgot. Now suck it up, because we're going to that party tomorrow."

"B-but, but…"

"No 'but's'. We're going and that's final." Damn, sometimes Gerard hated that he wasn't strong enough to be the older sibling.


	6. You Never Fucking Have a Lighter

You Never Fucking Have a Lighter

_"So I travel back down that road." -Nelly_

* * *

**4 MONTHS BEFORE THE PARTY**

_Ring. Ring. _Gerard sighed, drumming his fingers on the dash, and looked in his rear-view mirror for…well he didn't know what he was looking for. Maybe he wasn't looking for some_thing_ but for some_one_; yeah, that was it exactly! He was looking for some_one_, but he didn't know who, and he didn't know why. He shook his head to clear his mind, pinched the bridge of his nose, and closed his eyes. He was waiting…just waiting. Albeit he was restless—he kept bouncing his leg up and down like he couldn't sit still—but he was waiting nonetheless.

Gerard was sitting in his car that was parked in the lot of a nearly deserted strip mall; this was where he—usually with Mikey because he couldn't bear the thought of going alone—picked up any food they needed. He always stopped for groceries on the way home from wherever he had been that day (sometimes it was from work, usually it was from home).

_Ring. Ring. Ring._ God fucking shit damn, Mikey! He made a frustrated noise, "Answer the fucking phone!" He _was _calling to see if Mikey needed anything, but apparently Mikey didn't know how to use a fucking telephone. Sometimes Gerard wondered if Mikey was the crazy one.

[**You're an asshole.**]

[**_You're _****technologically inept. Can we get back to the story now?**]

Gerard was about to hang up when he heard something on the other end of the line. "What?" Mikey asked in his usual monotonous voice.

Gerard's face contorted in bitterness. "What the fuck do you mean _what?_"

"Pringles." Then he hung up.

"You're such a fucking prick," Gerard said to the dial-tone. Then he hung up and sat in silence, debating if it was a smart idea to go get food now, or pick up Mikey. Well, it seemed a bit ridiculous to drive home just to pick up Mikey and come back…but Gerard would do it! He totally would. He was just really bad at talking to people he didn't know; honestly, once you got to know Gerard it was like day and night—

[**Whoa! We are saving that description for later chapters, dumbass!**]

[**Who are ****_you _****calling a dumbass, you fuckface?**]

[**Oh don't even get me started on name-calling you trashy, no-good, two-bit—**]

[**Bro, Frank, really?**]

[**_What?!_**]

[**Later. Chapters.**]

Gerard just sighed. He raked his fingers through his greasy black hair before sighing one more time and getting out of his car. Before he headed in to the store, he double checked that his car was locked; it's not like anyone was going to steal anything, because there was no one around, but who can blame a guy for being a bit cautious?

[**You mean 'paranoid'.**]

[**I am going to take my fist, and apply it, with great pressure, to your face.**]

He stood in front of the store, staring at the bright, flashing neon sign that said 'OPEN 24/7!'. Gerard tried to convince himself that everything was okay; _It _looks _inviting, I guess, _he thought with a grimace. He just shook his head, as a shiver went through him—what was that?—and slowly turned away from the door.

_Nah I'll just…_ He walked away, fists clenched, high on his tiptoes, as if he didn't want anyone to see him or something. He had to just keep telling himself: _Hey, maybe food isn't such a good idea, I should just get back in my car and…_but then he stopped. His shoulders slouched, and let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He turned back towards the door, face stormy and brooding; there was no denying they needed food. Besides, Gerard _hated_ Mikey's whiny-bitch mode—almost as much as he hated being in public. He steeled himself and decided to just suck it up.

XxXxXxXxX

Gerard shoved the last of his groceries into the back of car and slammed it shut. Shopping wasn't that bad, actually. He'd grabbed one of those small baskets and walked aimlessly up and down the aisles. He grabbed everything that he had to get—even the fucking _Pringles_—and then some. When he had gone to check out he bought another pack of cigarettes, and five candy bars; what? He had a sweet tooth.

[**Fat ass.**]

[**Oh hell no you did not just call my boyfriend what I think you did!**]

[**I ****_am _****your boyfriend…**]

[**I'll still kick your ass.**]

[**My 'fat ass'?**]

[**That. Is. ****_It!_**]

[**Wh-what? No! ****_No! _****Please g-get off me! Mikey, MIKEY! TAKE OVER!**]

[**Uh, sure…okay?**]

Okay, so Gerard went shopping, checked out, he has a sweet tooth, nota fat ass…yada yada yada. Where were we? Um, I don't really know how to pick this up, so I'll just skip back to the parking lot part.

After he closed his trunk, he leaned against the back of it and crossed his ankles. He smiled to himself as he pulled out the last of his cigarettes. Then he remembered; ah, there's no lighter. _God_, he thought, _I never have a fucking lighter_. His smile changed from happy to resentful in a matter of seconds.

He pushed himself off of the trunk and scratched his head in frustration. He let out an irritated, "_Fucking shit!_" before staring at the cigarette, sputtering, and contemplating on throwing it on the ground or saving it. Well, it's not like he had a lighter or was going to have one any time soon, so he might as well just—

"Whoa, hold on there," the voice that came from behind Gerard was far away, and it was familiar yet it wasn't. At all. _Whatsoever_. But it seemed so familiar that it sent a huge ripple through his body, and set his heart at a hundred miles a minute. He wasn't scared. No, he wasn't scared in the least. However, he _did _feel like there were butterflies—no faeries the size of raccoons as rabid as bears—in his stomach, and his head was all fuzzy.

Gerard was completely fine with this strange feeling because he knew he could figure it out later, but things got more complicated when he turned around to see who was talking to him. It was like looking at a photograph; one he hadn't taken yet, if that makes any sense.

[**It doesn't.**]

[**Do you want me to tell the story or not?**]

[**…fine, whatever fine.**]

The guy running towards him was short [Frank, shut up]. He was wearing black skinny jeans—in _this _heat?—and a black Misfits sweatshirt—Gerard felt the corners of his mouth turn up just enough to be considered a smile. The guy stopped just short of crashing straight into Gerard (which he wouldn't have minded at all), and grinned up at him with a blinding, huge, beautiful smile, "No need to waste a perfectly good cigarette, right?" When he laughed, Gerard noticed that the corners of his eyes scrunched up just a little bit. Speaking of his eyes: They were amazing. They were _huge_, and green with brown flecks in them, and they reflected earnest happiness. It was kind of infectious, and Gerard damned himself as he felt his smile grow.

"Uh," Gerard scratched the back of his head, ducking it before this guy saw his tomato-red face. _Smooth move Gerard_.

[**Smooth move Gerard.**]

[**Mikey's really over exaggerating.**]

[**No. I'm really not.**]

[**Shut ****_up_****!**]

The guy laughed, and it was so bright and loud (and everything Gerard had expected) that Gerard almost thought there should be a glittering cloud of magical faerie dust exploding just from the sound.

"Here," the guy said as he dug in his back pocket, producing a silver Zippo and flipping it open. He had black hair (really, _really _black; almost impossibly so) that was kinda long and when he turned to get his lighter, Gerard could see the scorpion tattoo on his neck just visible through the curtain of hair; it made him wonder if there were any other tattoos somewhere beneath all those clothes—seriously, what the fuck, it's like 1000 degrees outside (granted Gerard can't feel it but _really_?!).

Gerard's shaking fingers fumbled as he put the cigarette to his lips. He was leaning in for a light when something absolutely horrible happened; the wind blew, and time seemed to stop just because Gerard and this stranger stopped—the stranger's pupil's dilating, and his eyes darkening.

_What is that smell_? Everything went in slow motion while Gerard's thoughts raced a million miles an hour. _No, seriously; what the _fuck _is that smell_?! It made him want to cry, or scream, or pass out. It was the sweet smell of autumn rain and dirt. Just beneath that Gerard could sense tobacco, coffee, peppermint, and something so sickeningly sweet that he felt his knees go weak. Oh, it was rather disturbing how quickly Gerard fell in love with someone he'd never—well _possibly_—seen before.

[**Are you shitting me, Mikey?**]

[**I was told to "recount every detail as Gerard told me"…so I am.**]

Gerard seemed to think that everything was moving in slow-mo, but suddenly everything went too quickly for him to comprehend exactly what the fuck was going on. He looked down at his feet to avoid looking at, well, anything aside from his feet. "Uh," Gerard started again.

"I have to go," Gerard heard before another shudder went through him—in this billion degree weather, seriously _stop_ _fucking_ _around_! And before he could say anything in response, he looked up and nobody was there. Gerard looked around; there was no one walking or running or driving away and it had only been a matter of half a millisecond. His brows furrowed in frustration, and he was starting to think that there hadn't been anyone here in the first place—that he was just talking to himself.

_What the hell is going on in my life_? He thought, shaking his head.

"I don't fucking know anymore…" he told himself as he turned to get in his car. Something in his pocket felt heavier, but he just assumed it was his cell phone, and thought nothing of it.

[**You are really quick to jump to conclusions.**]

[**I'm also really quick at committing murder.**]

[**Can I tell a motherfucking story without you two interrupting?! Goddamn.**]

He got in his car and turned the A/C on full-blast, feeling the sweat he knew (but didn't feel or smell) that had acquired on his forehead cool down to practically ice. He sighed, about to pull out of the parking lot when he suddenly realized that something really wrong had just occurred; why the fuck was there something in his pocket when his cell phone had been sitting in the car this entire time?

He quickly fished out the mystery item to find a small piece of paper wrapped around something small and silver. When he unrolled it, he read the note first, ignoring whatever had fallen into his lap. [And I swear to Jesus Christ if you say something about him 'needing to get his priorities straight' I will fucking murder you.]

'_Read it._'

…Um, what? I picked up whatever had fallen in my lap and examined it, it was a silver Zippo that looked pretty scratched up and used frequently. What exactly was he supposed to read? The _lighter_? Ha, that's ridic—

Upon further examination, Gerard realized that there was something engraved on the front that said: _Gee, this is my lucky Zippo. Do_ not_ fucking lose it_ _again_. _– xo F.I_.

XxXxXxXxX

"Huh?" Mikey raised his eyebrows which was his universal tell-tale sign of '_I AM FREAING THE FUCK OUT RIGHT NOW HOLY SHIT!_' And if Mikey was reacting like this, then Gerard sure was about to find himself in a major panic attack.

[**M'kay, I can take it from here**.]

[**Dude, Frank, you weren't even there for that part.**]

[**So?! Bob wasn't there for half of the parts that he told!**]

[**That's because he's Bob, and doesn't mind getting into detail…**]

[**Are you saying I don't give any detail when I tell the goddamned story?!**]

[**Yes. That is ****_exactly_**** what I'm saying**.]

[**Well, it's my turn, so move the fuck over**.]

[**Fine…but when they start to ask questions because ****_you _****didn't specify—**]

[**Then Gerard can just fill them in, isn't that right Gee?**]

[**Uh, what? Yeah, sure. Don't bother me…painting.**]

[**Fuck yeah! Okay so because I know you all love me so much, and you think Mikey is boring as fuck, I'll just skip over the details and let this part be retold later! As for following along? Good luck; you motherfuckers are gonna need it.**]

Gerard shrugged, "I don't know Mikes. It just…_happened_." He raked a hand through his hair (like he does all the fucking time).

[**No commentary from the narrator, thank you.**]

[**Ugh, fine!**]

Mikey set down the note, "So you're telling me that you fell in love with some random dude you've probably never met before?"

Gerard sighed in exasperation and leaned back on the couch, "Mikey, you over exaggerate…but yes that's exactly what I'm saying." Nobody said anything for a few minutes until Mikey broke the silence.

"Just…run through it again." Then he stuffed his hand in the Pringle container and shoved about ten chips in his mouth.

[**Now who's over exaggerating?**]

[**That's not an exaggeration.**]

[**Dude, Mikey, I've seen you eat three pizza's by yourself in a matter of two minutes…that's not even possible.**]

Gerard scrubbed over his face with his hands, "Okay so, I put all my shit in the back of the car." The words came out mumbled from between his fingers.

"Mhmm."

"And I pull out my last fucking cigarette."

"Mhmm."

"But then I discover, not for the first fucking time, that I don't have a goddamned lighter!"

"Mhmm."

Gerard peaked out from between his fingers, giving his brother a look of murderous rage, "If you say that one more time I'm going to punch you in the throat."

"Mh—" but he stopped before he could finish. "Right…you never fucking have a lighter." Then Gerard sighed and continued on with his story. He told Mikey how he realized that he didn't have a fucking lighter—big surprise!—and he got so fucking pissed off because, shit, he hasn't had nicotine in his system for two weeks and he was about to kill somebody. In order to avoid reminding himself of the fact that he probably wouldn't get to smoke for another two weeks, Gerard was just going to throw the cigarette away. However, his plans were ruined when some ridiculously beautiful midget came up behind him and scared the fucking bjeezus out of him.

"So you fell in love with him when?" And Gerard could tell that Mikey wasn't just trying to poke fun at him; it was a completely serious question.

"I don't know, like…okay he came up behind me, and just the sound of his voice was, like, I don't know."

"I'm starting to get the feeling that you don't know. Is that correct?"

"I-you…I _don't_ _know_!"

"Thought so," then he set down the Pringles (glad you're finally getting your priorities straight, Mikes) and put his elbows on his knees, folding his hands together. "Gerard, listen," he started, "We're different, okay? If you think you knew this guy from the second you heard his voice then chances are—however horrible they might seem—that you know him. So I want you to tell me again, and answer without thinking this time: When did you fall in love with him?"

Gerard—who had been running his fingers over the scratches and engraving on the lighter—responded automatically, taking Mikey's advice and just answering without even thinking about it first;

"One-thousand-eight-hundred-twenty-five years ago, four months from now."

"Mhmm." And Gerard said nothing.


	7. ONLY Because You Said 'Bloody'

ONLY Because You Said 'Bloody'

_"There ain't a dry eye left in the back of the place." -My Chemical Romance_

* * *

**THREE HOURS BEFORE THE PARTY**

Frank whipped open the door and stormed inside. The few people who were around gave him frightened looks, but they didn't say anything; wise choice. Everybody knew that when Frank was in one of _those _moods, you don't do _anything _to possibly upset him. Now, here's what you're thinking: "What is he, like, on his period or something! Haha!" Oh, haha NO. He wasn't just angry when he was like this, he was fucking dangerous, and unless you wanted to be torn to shreds you stayed the fuck out of his way, or did everything he told you to.

[**Am I really that bad?**]

[**Depends…are you in one of those moods right now?**]

[**Kinda, maybe. I don't know…why?**]

[**Oh, nothing! No, nah, you're definitely just like, a pile of roses, Frank!**]

[**You're horrible at this, you know.**]

[**Ugh, I know.**]

He walked up to the bar where Lyndzey was writing something that looked important, and slammed his fist on the table. Lyndzey's pen bounced a bit, but otherwise she seemed unfazed.

"I'm upset," he said loudly. Lyndzey—one of the few who doesn't mind to get in the lion's den—calmly looked up at him, set down her pen, folded her hands in her lap and nodded towards the chair next to her.

"Sit," she said politely. She had been around long enough to know how to calm him down when he was acting like a total jackass. Reluctantly—and that's with visible physical restraint not to punch her in the face—Frank lowered himself into the seat and took a deep breath.

"Now talk to me," she said lightly; she also knew that even knowing Frank for this long, he was a different bomb every time this happened, and if you cut the wrong wire…well, I think we all know where _that _would lead us.

"It's October 20th," Frank said.

"Yes," Lyndzey said when Frank didn't continue. Frank pursed his lips and his eyebrows drew together, but he still didn't say anything. Lyndzey just sighed, "Okay, Frank. _Yes _it is October 20th today, and in a few hours we're going to put on a show—the first show of the season might I add—and there will be people who come and scream and cry and stare. After we have scared the shit out of those people, we're all going to come back here," she waved her hand around, "and we're going to celebrate."

Frank just gave her a blank stare, "Is that okay with you?" Lyndzey asked, raising her eyebrows. Frank slowly shook his head. "Then what do you want?"

"To not be angry," he said, looking very determined.

Lyndzey nodded and smiled at him. "And how do you suggest we accomplish that?" She asked. He looked at her, stared deep into her eyes, searching for something, _anything_,to hold on to.

"This gets worse," Frank said, "People lied to me. It doesn't get better." He paused for a second, just enough time to pick a piece of fuzz off of Lyndzey's shirt and blow it away. "Every year. Every October, and this happens. I don't know why. I don't think I really want to know why. I just want it to stop. I want to stop being angry; I'm angry that I'm angry. This isn't who I am. I'm not an angry person, but there's something inside of me that just feels so…" he couldn't find the word he was looking for.

"There's something inside of you that feels lost." Lyndzey said matter-of-factly. Frank snapped his fingers and pointed at her.

"Exactly! Yes! Something inside of me is lost…something is missing. Something that I need in order t-to just _breathe_." Then he let out a whining sigh and collapsed onto the bar. Lyndzey rubbed his back soothingly.

"We'll get it," she said. "You'll get it."

"'Or rendsr comung t'nt, rut?" Frank's voice was all muffled because his face was, y'know, chillin' on the counter. However, Lyndzey understood him anyways. She laughed, "Yes, my friends are coming tonight."

"'R thee ness perpel?"

"Yes, they are very nice people, thank you for asking."

"'M terd."

"I know you're tired. Maybe you should just skip the party, huh?"

"Buh ah wun met 'r rends."

"I know you want to meet my friends." There was a silence in which the only thing that could be heard was Lyndzey's hand rubbing tiny circles across Frank's back. "What if I asked them to stay the night? You can meet them in the morning."

Frank took a deep breath and yawned. "M'ker."

"Okay?"

"M'ker…er luer yer."

"I love you too."

XxXxXxXxX

**THE PARTY (WELL, AN HOUR AFTER IT STARTED)**

_People_. The very first thing Gerard Way saw when he walked into this huge brightly-lit building was a mass of people. They were seated at various tables that were scattered around the room, walking among the crowd to socialize with _everyone_—Gerard never understood how people could do that—and standing and/or sitting at the bar at the other end of the room. Gerard had only been to one party in his entire life, and he barely remembered any of it; it could have had something to do with the fact that he was still bloody when it happened or it could have something to do with the fact that he'd gotten drunk that night. Either way he hadn't been prepared to come to this party. He had always assumed that parties were groups of people in dark basements who got drunk, smoked weed, laughed at jokes that generally weren't funny, and did a lot of stupid things.

That did _nothing _to help one imagine how this room looked. There were lights _everywhere_; even strings of coloured lights hung from the ceiling and glittered like tiny multi-coloured diamonds. Although Gerard could smell sweat, he didn't catch one whiff of marijuana (okay, maybe he smelled it on the teenage kid who had pushed by him to go outside), and there was definitely no alcohol anywhere Gerard looked. He knew that he was staring at…everyone and everything, but he really couldn't care less if anyone cared.

"Mikey," he whispered, clinging to his brother and still looking around. Mikey barely tilted his head to hear Gerard better, but laughed and rolled his eyes when Gerard said, "Where the fuck are we?" He got no answer except for Mikey pulling him into the swelling, moving, abnormally body-heat-deprived crowd of people, tugging him along as he followed Jams to the other side of the room. When they finally reached the bar (literally five minutes later) Gerard saw that Jams was talking to a very pretty girl with bright eyes and a glossy smile. She was wearing skin-tight black pants (that looked like spandex)—

[**That's because they are spandex you idiot**!]

[**BUT AT THE TIME I DIDN'T KNOW THAT YOU BITCH!**]

[**_What'd you just call my best friend?_**]

[**I'm not as afraid of you as you think I am. I can withhold sex too.**]

[**…I'm going to fucking murder you.**]

[**Have fun enjoying ****_that _****sexless life!**]

—a black t-shirt that looked torn to shreds and underneath you could see her sports bra (neon pink). She was also sporting a bitchin' pair of neon pink converse, and Gerard almost said something, but that would mean that she'd respond and then he'd be stuck in a conversation with this fuckin' hot chick (and if Gerard was straight he'd be all over that shit), but he just _can't _talk to pretty people (hell, he can't talk to normal people!) no matter what gender they are!

"So guys," Jamia started once they reached her and gotten her attention. "I'd like you to meet Lyndzey." The girl—Lyndzey—waved to them and smiled warmly and Gerard felt like he knew her from somewhere; from another life or something.

[**We don't like to put context clues in there, thank you very much.**]

[**Well too fucking bad; I like context clues.**]

"Mikey. Nice to meet you," Mikey said, shocking Gerard by actually smiling back _and _shaking Lyndzey's hand. Something was going on here. Then Lyndzey looked at Jams expectantly, as if she were supposed to say something really important—which she actually was.

"She's my girlfriend." Jams said, reaching down and grabbing Lyndzey's hand. _Wow_, Gerard thought, feeling his eyes get wide. _I was _not _expecting that one_.

"I could have guessed," Mikey said, surprising Gerard yet again. "The way you look at her." The tone in his voice was that of fondness, and Gerard was seriously starting to wonder what the actual fuck was going on here? Mikey didn't just _show _emotion! Mikey didn't have a soul; he didn't know what emotion was.

[**Still don't.**]

[**Thank you captain obvious.**]

"So then, you approve?" Lyndzey asked with a lighthearted laugh. Mikey just nodded and then looked at Gerard, who had been quietly standing behind him, trying to stay unnoticed. "What about you, Gerard?" Oh, that fucking smirk; Gerard wanted to punch it right off his fucking smug face.

"Yes," Gerard said slowly and steadily, as if having trouble saying the actual word itself. It felt foreign in his mouth; uncommon. But this just felt so right? Like, he understood what Mikey said when he mentioned how Jamia looked at her. He noticed that the look was easily returned, if it wasn't being shown already. Lyndzey really did care for Jams.

"How long?" Mikey asked, once again drawing the attention away from Gerard, for which he was grateful.

"A few years?" She said guiltily, laughing slightly.

"Really?" Mikey asked, looking just as surprised as Gerard felt.

"Yeah," Lyndzey said, "With The Parade travelling all year and whatnot…the time we get to see each other; it's like we've only been dating for a few months, but all that time I've never wanted anyone else." Gerard felt his mouth curl into a smile; he was so happy for Jams. Lyndzey smiled back at him, as if showing that she approved of him as well. "I'm sorry to ask, if it makes you uncomfortable," she started, seeming to know full well that Gerard didn't like to talk, "Your name is?"

"This is my brother, Gerard," Mikey said, swooping in and saving the day. "He doesn't really talk much. But if you get him going on comic books, horror movies, or art he'll never shut up." Gerard elbowed him in the side, but felt his face getting hot; Mikey was many things, but he wasn't a liar. "He also never really stops singing…ever." Mikey rolled his eyes, acting as if Gerard wasn't trying to mentally strangle him.

"A singer? Are you any good?" Lyndzey seemed to be asking a very serious question. She glanced over to Jamia who met her eyes. Jams nodded and Lyndzey then looked at Mikey who just shrugged his shoulders.

"I don't know." Gerard said honestly, actually feeling comfortable talking to this complete stranger (okay, so she wasn't a complete stranger, but she was close enough).

"Do you mind if I talk to you for a few minutes?" She seemed hesitant, "It's totally fine if you don't want to talk, I just thought—"

"Sure," he interjected, nodding his head a few times. He let himself be steered away to the booth in the corner of the room. He sat down across from her, and folded his hands in his lap, chewing on his bottom lip, and kind of regretting this decision.

"So," Lyndzey said, looking very excited. "Do you know anything about The Parade?" He shook his head, "We're a traveling circus. A _haunted _traveling circus," this seemed to catch his attention, "And do you see that stage over there?" Gerard hadn't noticed it when he walked in, but in the far corner of the room, there was a stage. It was dark and looked lonely.

"We've been looking for someone to fill that stage." Uh oh…he knew where this was going. "I don't just expect you to up and leave your life here, but for the time that we're in Jersey…I mean, we can't have just _anyone _up there."

"Why not?"

"Everyone who works here," she said with a warmhearted smile. "We're all…different. I'm sure you can relate." Oh man could Gerard relate.

But… "So you're saying that everyone—every person who works here. They're not bloody?" He knew his terminology was a bit flawed, but it was a habit. He was never going to change who he was for anyone.

"I've never heard that term before," she said with a laugh, "But yeah. Nobody here is bloody. A lot of us haven't been bloody in a long time." Gerard tried to imagine what it'd be like; living among people who were like him. Not having to hide who he was, not having to scrounge for food and live off Pringles (damnit, Mikey! This is why we can't have nice things!), and to not have to go to _work_.

"Yes," Gerard blurted out. Lyndzey looked shocked, but she looked very happy. "I'll do it…but…" then the negatives started to creep into his mind; nobody knew what annoyed him, nobody knew not to drink the last of the coffee, nobody knew what had happened to him…

"I'll do it, but I'm not even good," he was half lying. He honestly didn't know if he was good enough, but that's not the real reason that he didn't want to do it. A bright and mischievous smile crossed over her face and she looked back at the stage before turning to him.

"Do you want to try?" She asked. He just stared at her with a blank face.

"Now." It wasn't a question.

"No, not _now_." She clarified. "Ray has the guitar with him," she looked out among the crowd, searching for someone. She spotted him and waved him over, "how about in a few hours, when everyone leaves and it's just us? And by 'us' I mean The Parade, but not a bunch of bloody strangers."

"Fine," he said, "but _only _because you said 'bloody'." She laughed at that, and at that moment, someone appeared next to them. He looked a bit taller than Gerard, wearing black jeans, high tops and… "Are you wearing a waist coat?" Gerard asked, very impressed by his choice of fashion.

"Fuck yeah!" His voice was a shocking mix of high-squeak and low-gravel. Also, his hair was fucking amazing. Gerard had never seen that kind of Jew-fro ever before in his entire life.

"Ray," Lyndzey said, "this is Gerard. He's different, like us. Well, he's different like Barakat and Stump and such, but he's still different." Gerard had no fucking idea what these words meant, but Ray seemed to get it.

"Ah, okay!" Gerard noticed that he had an electric guitar strapped to his back. He pulled it off, set it against the wall next to Gerard and slid into the booth by Lyndzey.

"Gerard is a singer who might be able to help us out."

"I'm a _bad _singer." Gerard clarified, pointing at Lyndzey with a matter-of-fact tone and a knowing smile.

"I'll be the judge of that, thank you very much." Lyndzey said, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back in her seat.

"Isn't Frank in charge of that?" Ray asked, looking at her skeptically.

"Frank is somewhere currently _dying _so he left me in charge. Oh, also he wanted to meet you guys," she turned to Gerard. "I told him I'd ask you guys to stay the night. That way you could meet him in the morning."

"So you're saying that in a few hours I gotta sing in front of all these people, then I have to stay overnight, and meet some random dude who may or may not like the way I sing, but doesn't actually get the final say because his immune system told him not to come tonight?"

"Essentially," Lyndzey said smiling brightly. "But it's not his immune system." Gerard looked puzzled but didn't say anything.

"Hey, man, I'll catch you later, alright?" Ray stood up and smiled at Gerard before taking his guitar and disappearing back into the crowd.

_Sigh_. This really was going to be a long night.

XxXxXxXxX

**WHEN THE PARTY ENDED…**

"Okay, everyone!" Lyndzey was standing on a table waving her arms frantically to try and get everyone's attention. Slowly but surely the people who had been spread throughout the room, and some people who had been outside, started to trickle to the other end of the room and sit at/on the tables right near the front of the stage. Gerard (who had just been sitting on the edge of the stage, swinging his feet back and forth) chewed on his bottom lip as he observed how everyone acted and how everyone was dressed.

There were two other girls dressed like Lyndzey but instead of pink, one of the girls had neon orange, and the other had neon green—they seemed plenty happy and almost _floated _around the room as they talked to people. There was a really happy, but rather clumsy, guy who also wore a waist-coat, but it was red and he was wearing a really fuckin' cool top-hat. There were a few people dressed in regular clothes; one of them was a guy that had crazy hair that was like a spiked mohawk, and the other was a girl who was kinda pretty and totally Mikey's type. There were two guys who wore black t-shirts that said 'SECURITY' on the front, but one was really, really tall and the other was really kinda short.

And then Gerard noticed another guy who was dressed normally.

"Gabe?!" Gerard asked incredulously.

"Gee!" Gabe said, jumping over tables and crashing into him.

"Don't call me that," Gerard hissed back, pushing Gabe away. But Gabe just swung an arm around Gerard's shoulders and pulled him close, a huge smile on his face. "Hey, guys! This is Gee! This was my boss at Starbucks!"

A few of the people seemed to know what that meant and either started laughing or had a very amused expression as they watched Gerard's uncomfortable disposition. "If you still worked there you would be _soooooo _fired," Gerard said, shaking his head and making futile attempts to escape Gabe's iron grip (even though he could easily push him away).

"No I wouldn't," Gabe laughed at looked down at Gerard, "You need someone to work the drive-thru, remember?"

"There's always Ryan!"

"Okay, okay!" Lyndzey said, hopping from the table to the stage once everyone had been seated and quieted down.

"What's goin' on Lynz?" A brooding blonde guy asked, stepping forward and crossing his arms over his chest. Then Ray stepped out of the crowd and walked to stand next to where Gerard was sitting. Lyndzey cleared her throat, "So we've been looking for someone to fill this stage. We've been looking for quite some time now, and every time—"

"And every time you think you have someone, you end up being wrong. They usually suck." _Is that supposed to make me feel better_? Gerard thought, narrowing his eyes at tall blonde guy.

"Okay, yes," Lyndzey sighed, "I will admit that it hasn't worked out in the past, but this is the present, and if you don't want to stick around, Bob, then you can leave." She crossed her arms over her chest and looked at him challengingly. He just stepped back into the crowd and gestured for her to continue.

"I would let them do their own introductions, but since he doesn't really like talking," she glanced down at Gerard, "I'll just do it for them." She didn't sound angry, just amused. "Over there is Mikey Way," Mikey just waved at them, his face staying his normal blank stare (thank God), "And next to him is Jamia Nestor. She's my girlfriend." A few people cat-called or wolf-whistled but everyone else just cheered when Jamia smiled and waved at them.

"This is Mikey's older brother, Gerard," Lyndzey paused as if challenging someone to say otherwise. "Mikey says that Gerard sings a lot, but Gerard doesn't think he's any good and kinda hates me for making him do this." Gerard rolled his eyes, but he smiled nonetheless. "Hopefully we can convince him that we're not all horrible people," she looked at Bob, "and in the long run him and Mikey will stay since Mikey plays the bass guitar. Ray has agreed to play guitar for Gerard while he, er, _auditions_ for us." Then Lyndzey hopped off the stage, but before she walked away she turned to Gerard, placing her hands on his knees, "Good luck. Don't mind Bob. He's always like that."

Then everyone was staring at him, and he was wondering how fast he could run out of there. But then decided to just stick it out—Lyndzey _had _said 'bloody' after all. He cleared his throat, "H-hi," he said with his regular awkward smile. He didn't notice it, but a few of the girls in the audience looked at each other, putting their hands over their hearts as if they were breaking and whispered "_Aww, he's like a baby!_"

"What're we doin'?" Ray said, getting his guitar set up. Gerard sat there and realized that he wasn't sure if Ray knew any of the songs he liked.

"D'y'know The Smashing Pumpkins?" He asked quietly, pushing his hair behind his ear. Ray looked up at him and smiled, "Fuck yeah! Which song?" Gerard smiled back, feeling relieved. He drew his knees up and crossed his legs, chewing on his bottom lip and trying to decide.

"'Stand Inside Your Love'?" Ray's smile widened and he nodded his head, starting to play the first chords. _Oh fuck_…Gerard thought. He was so fucking nervous that he didn't know if he'd make it through the song. He didn't want to look at anyone, so when he looked out into the crowd, he kept his eyes hovering just above their heads.

"_You and me, meant to be. Immutable, impossible, it's destiny; pure lunacy, incalculable, insufferable,_" he was on melody, but barely anyone could hear him. Ray could, but that's only because he was standing right next to him. Ray looked up at Gerard questioningly, and when their eyes met, Ray gave him this look 'Keep singing…' a few of the guys in the audience started to snicker. Bob had an 'I-Told-You-So' look on his face and was just looking at Lyndzey who looked rather worried. Mikey's face gave nothing away and Jams gave him an encouraging smile and a thumbs-up.

However, it was that fucking smug-ass look on Bob's face that really did it for Gerard. "_But for the last time, you're everything I want and ask for._" Everyone was screaming—he was amazing. "_You're all that I'd dreamed who wouldn't be the one you love. Who wouldn't stand inside your love, protected and the lover of a pure soul and a beautiful you._" Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mikey smiling, just the littlest bit, and it made him want to cry; he and Mikey didn't get along too well, but they were still brothers, and that wouldn't change the pride they felt when the other was proud of something they'd done.

"_Don't understand, don't feel me now, I will breathe for the both of us. Travel the world, traverse the skies. Your home is here: within my heart_." And by some miracle that was when Ray stopped playing, and Gerard stopped singing, and it was a perfect ending. Gerard hopped off the stage and wanted to curse himself for the giant grin that crossed his face, but he looked at Ray who was smiling just as big (if not bigger) and suddenly he didn't care anymore. After everyone had _finally _stopped clapping and whooping and cheering, which was almost five minutes later, Lyndzey bounded up to Gerard and grabbed his hand, looking deep into his eyes.

"You're fucking crazy if you think you're a bad singer," she said with a blinding grin, "Seriously fucking mental…or deaf. Or both." Gerard was so surprised and overwhelmed by everyone and everything that he just stared at Lyndzey before stuttering, "O-okay."

Bob stepped out of the crowd and walked up to Gerard who wore a rather stony look, despite feeling incredibly nervous. Then Bob's gloomy melted into a smile—_Wow, _Gerard thought, _Bob looks way better when he smiles_.

[**Don't get used to it.**]

[**Don't worry, I'm not.**]

"Every time you're on stage? I expect to see _that_," he clapped Gerard on the shoulder and moved away. Lyndzey and Ray (and everyone else) were giving Gerard shocked looks—Bob didn't compliment, smile at, hug, or clap on the motherfucking shoulder, _anyone _to exist ever. "It's a miracle!" Ray whispered to Lyndzey who just smiled back and nodded enthusiastically. Gerard cleared his throat and nodded to the crowd; they were all sitting in their seats, smiling and laughing at jokes.

"You can all go home now!" Lyndzey said, waving her hand. Everyone let out a collective '_aw!_', but started to leave nonetheless. "Don't worry, he'll be here tomorrow." Lyndzey reassured them. They all let out one final cheer before dispersing. Mikey and Jamia walked up to meet Gerard, Lyndzey, and Ray.

"Wait, Barakat!" Just as one guy was leaving the room, Lyndzey stopped him, and when he looked over with a question mark on his face, she waved him over. He was kinda tall, and his hair was also quite amazing.

"'Sup?" He asked.

"I was wondering if you could have Gerard, Mikey, and Jams with you tonight? I _would _offer to take Jams off your hands, but, y'know, Frank—" Apparently that was all the explanation he needed.

"Yeah, sure! No problem," he bobbed his head up and down. "I was just gonna leave now, you guys wanna come?" He looked at Gerard expectantly. Gerard looked at Jamia. Jamia looked at Mikey. Mikey…well, Mikey didn't do much. He never really did much.

"Sure," Gerard answered finally, when he saw that no one else was going to say something. Lyndzey gave Jams a quick peck on the lips, waved goodnight to them and then bounded off somewhere else. Ray, who had just decided to stick around for a while, also waved goodnight.

"Alright," the guy—Barakat—said. "Follow me!" He lead them outside, "Here's how this usually works; you guys are gonna stay in my trailer with Patrick, and I'll go sleep with someone else."

"Well, we don't wanna put you out or anything!" Jams started, a worried look on her face.

"No, no! Don't worry about it," he said, waving her off. "I don't sleep in my trailer most of the time anyways. I'm sure Patrick will be happy with the company. Now, I think one of you will have to sleep on the floor, but it's really comfortable because I have three bean-bag chairs. I mean, unless one of you wants to sleep with Trick?" They all glanced among themselves.

"I'll take that as a no," he laughed. "Oh, I'm Jack, by the way. Everyone usually just calls me Barakat. Don't know why; it's the most annoying last name ever." Gerard noticed that the walk—through the pitch-fucking-dark—from the bar to Jack's trailer had gone by very quickly, and he hadn't really been paying attention to where they were going. They finally arrived at a trailer who still had the outside lights on (one of the only trailers with lights on).

"Here's where you guys'll be staying." He pointed at the door. "I'm gonna be right over there," he pointed to another trailer (lights on) that was about 20 yards away. "If you guys need anything just knock on the door. I don't know if we'll be sleeping anyways." He laughed and then said goodbye to them, walking off into the dark.

Before the three of them entered the trailer Mikey looked at them, "I wonder if Patrick even knows we're staying with him." But that question was answered when the door opened, and standing in the door was a short guy wearing sweatpants, a t-shirt, and a hat.

"Yeah, I know." He said with a smile. When they looked at him questioningly he just pointed to his head, "Ears, y'know?" And if they didn't know better they would have thought that he was insulting their intelligence. "So, uh, come inside, I guess," he stepped out of the way and let them inside. The first thing Mikey did when he came inside, was jump on the bed.

"C'mon, Jams." He said, patting the small space next to him.

Gerard just looked at him like 'Are-You-Fucking-Kidding-Me?'. Mikey smirked at him. "You get floor," he said with a yawn before falling back on the bed and falling asleep instantly. Jams looked at Gerard guiltily.

"Sorry," she said. "If it makes you feel any better; I would have rather slept with you." She pat him on the arm and then crawled onto the bed right next to Mikey. That just left Gerard and Patrick.

"_Motherfuck_. Shit…I got floor, I guess." Gerard said, kicking his shoes off, grabbing a blanket off the bed, and falling back onto the bean-bag chairs that had been piled together. "Hey, this is not half fucking bad at all." He said with a nod of approval. Patrick, who had been sitting on his bed with an amused face, smiled at him.

"So you're going to sleep right away?" He asked.

"Hell yeah," Gerard yawned. "Real fuckin' tired."

"You swear a lot when you're sleepy." Patrick said observantly.

"No shit, Sherlock," Gerard sighed, rolling over and pulling the blanket up to his chin. "And goddamnit, Patrick, who the fuck says 'sleepy' anymore?" Patrick just laughed at him, "Well, goodnight then," he said turning off the light and crawling under his covers.

And just before he drifted off to sleep, Gerard mumbled:

"Good-fucking-night, Patrick."

XxXxXxXxX

**THE NEXT MORNING (AROUND 10:15AM)**

"_Rise and shine, princess!_" It was a rather rude awakening; loud and boisterous and right next to Gerard's motherfucking _ear_. Naturally this led him to conclude that Mikey was, once again, being a major assface.

"Hop off," Gerard said, shooing Mikey away with the wave of his hand, and rolling over, pulling the covers over his head. But something about his bed didn't feel right. It was comfortable…why was it comfortable? He threw the blanket off, sat up quickly, and looked around with wide eyes. Mikey was wearing the same thing he'd worn yesterday, and judging by the gross sticking thing his eyelashes were doing because of the eyeliner, Gerard could guess that his ensemble was also from yesterday.

What were they doing yesterday? And why is Gerard sleeping on some comfortable ass bean-bag chairs? And why did Mikey have to be so annoying all the time?

[**'S my job.**]

[**You're fired.**]

"What?" Gerard said, confused. It was the only thing his brain could comprehend. "What?" He looked up at Mikey who was smirking and in his hand was, "_Holy fucking tits, where'd you get coffee_?!" Gerard scrambled to his feet and leaned closer to Mikey, inhaling the delicious scent.

"God, get away from me!" Mikey said, batting Gerard away.

"God is nowhere near you right now." Gerard replied, eyeing the cup greedily; he was contemplating stealing it because Gerard was generally a nice person, but when it came to coffee? Don't even get him started.

"Here." Mikey said, holding out the cup. "It's yours." Gerard's brain blew up; his eyes went wide, his mouth dropped, and everything that he had ever thought was amazing suddenly seemed like math class. _Mikey was _giving _him _coffee! Mikey didn't just _give _people things, let alone his own brother; this was a big fucking deal.

"I would kiss you, but you're gross." Gerard said, downing the coffee like it was a welcoming bottle of Jack. He sighed and closed his eyes at the warm feeling that flowed down his throat and to his stomach, swishing around in a happy dance of pure awesomeness. He held the cup up to his nose and inhaled, groaning at the smell.

"_I'm _gross?" Mikey said, offended. "Really, Gerard? You have, like, a motherfucking orgasm every time someone says the word 'coffee'!"

"Mmm," Gerard said, wearing a very rarely seen shit-eating grin. "Careful, Mikey. I have to wear these pants for the rest of the day." Then he wagged his eyebrows and laughed when Mikey pushed his arm, rolling his eyes, but Gerard could clearly see the smile on his face.

"Now _that's _gross." He said, laughing slightly. Gerard shrugged, and then resumed what he had been doing _before _receiving the best Mikeyway peace-offering to ever exist.

"Uh…" suddenly he felt very small, and very scared. He may be happy—ecstatic—to have some coffee in his system, but that would never stop the overwhelming anxiety that seemed to creep into his system when he wasn't at home, in his room, where he could take his shoes off if he wanted to. _Oh, shit_! He looked down at his feet in a panic, but sighed in relief when he noticed he was still wearing them. Mikey smiled at him, fondly, not wanting to tell him that he _had _taken his shoes off last night, but that Mikey put them back on his feet that morning before waking him up.

"C'mon," Mikey said, nodding to the door behind him. Gerard stretched before scratching his head and following his brother outside. Nobody else had been in the trailer; Jams and Patrick were nowhere to be seen. There weren't any people outside either, but compared to Mikey, Gerard reacted rather severely—rather embarrassingly.

He hissed, in physical pain, when he stepped outside into the sunlight. So there was this thing about non-bloody people like him not liking sunlight, right? Thing is: Mikey fucking _loved _the sun, and Jams went on vacation to Florida a few years ago. It was just him. He was so stereotypical that Mikey almost wanted to punch him in the face so that people wouldn't get creeped out when they asked him, "What's wrong with your face?" and he had to reply, "Sunlight."

"God, Gerard," Mikey said, shaking his head, "Put your fuckin' big-boy pants on and deal with it! It's _just _the _sun_!"

Gerard glared at him (well, glared as much as he could with his eyes already all squinty and barely even open), "It's not '_just _the _sun_!', okay? It fuckin' hurts, man. I've told you that before. Hop off!" Gerard had no fucking clue where they were even walking, but he was hoping it was some place with a mirror, because not only did he hate the way he looked usually, but he got extremely nervous when he had to be in front of other people. "Where're we even going?"

"Bathroom. I know the prima donna needs her time to get all beautiful before putting on a show."

"That's not fuckin' funny, Mikey; I don't wanna sing again."

"Too bad." Mikey said as they approached the rather nice building that everyone used as a bathroom. It was essentially a house, but every room was just a bathroom. How they could afford it? Nobody fuckin' knew. It was almost like…magic.

[**Seriously?! What is with you people and context clues?**]

[**That wasn't even a context clue. It was foreshadowing!**]

[**Either way? ****_This is why we can't have nice things._**]

"What do you mean 'too—" but Gerard was cut off mid-sentence because he was just standing in the doorway, staring down a long narrow hall with, like, ten doors on each side, and a staircase at the end. "Whoa. Now _that _is fuckin' cool." He followed Mikey to one of the open doors and when they went inside, Gerard almost passed out.

"How is this a thing?!" He turned around and looked at Mikey in bewilderment. Mikey just shut the door behind them and shrugged. "I-I just…I can't…I don't…."

"Shh," Mikey said, walking up to Gerard and petting his head in a demeaning manner. "Just let it happen, Gee. Just let it happen." Gerard sighed, not even calm enough to yell at Mikey for being a buttfuck.

Oh, what was he freaking out about? Well, let me tell you! On the far wall was a shower/bathtub (pretty nice, in fact). The wall directly to their right had a door that led to the toilet. The other wall had a vanity with a mirror that stretched along the entire wall, three royal-looking chairs so that one could sit and look in the mirror, and two sinks—one on either side. And in the middle of the motherfucking room? Two goddamned couches that were made of a plush and velvety material.

"I feel like it's a sin if I shit in this bathroom…" Gerard said once Mikey let go of him and he felt stable enough to not pass out. Mikey didn't say anything, but moved to the couch instead and watched his brother in amusement. Gerard wandered around the room in silence for a while—another nervous habit—before he finally plopped down in one of the chairs and looked at himself in the mirror. He sat there for a good five minutes, not even blinking, before turning around and looking at Mikey with a very blank expression. "I don't want to take my shoes off."

Oh, the bathroom was carpeted, too.

"Then don't."

"But the carpet…"

"Then take your shoes off."

"But I don't want to."

"Gerard if you don't make a motherfucking decision in the next five seconds, so help me I will go come over there and—"

"Okay, okay!" Gerard said, turning back around. "I won't take my shoes off!" He looked at himself for another second before looking at Mikey in the mirror. "I look really gross."

So maybe we should evaluate what Gerard Way means when he says _I look really gross_, shall we? His pristine green converse were still in mint-condition, his jeans had _one _wrinkle at the bottom, his t-shirt wasn't sweaty or gross, and his jacket was fine. His hair looked wind-blown and pretty damn attractive (as always), and there…right in the middle of his face…

"Gerard, you have like_ one part _of eyeliner that smudged." Mikey said, rolling his eyes. "Maybe." He clarified. "You're really self-conscious, and I don't know why. You're _fine_." Gerard wanted to say something back, but he didn't want to sound like he was fishing for compliments or anything; he really _did _think he looked gross. Nobody else would, but why should he care about their opinions?

"Fix your eyeliner." Mikey said, walking over to him and hopping up on the counter. "Let's get you more coffee." Gerard's face lit up, and he set to work—the ten minute task of taking his pinky finger, and carefully, _carefully_ wiping away the one millimeter black smudge that protruded from the corner of his eye.

As Mikey was leading Gerard back to the 'bar'—which was more like a place where they just did shit—Gerard had a very sudden thought. "What did you mean 'too bad'?" There was no reply until they had almost reached the door.

"What?" Mikey asked, knowing exactly what he was talking about.

"I don't want to sing again!" Gerard said, stomping his feet a little. Mikey looked back at him and smiled wickedly.

"Too bad."


End file.
